“Who’s George?”
“I call him George because his name is Adolphe. He shares this palatial apartment with me.”
Philip noticed then that the second bed had not been made since it was slept in. The pillow was black where the head had rested.
“You don’t mean to say you’re sharing this room with somebody else?” he cried.
“Why not? Lodging costs money in Soho. George is a waiter, he goes out at eight in the morning and does not come in till closing time, so he isn’t in my way at all. We neither of us sleep well, and he helps to pass away the hours of the night by telling me stories of his life. He’s a Swiss, and I’ve always had a taste for waiters. They see life from an entertaining angle.”