II
At the Savoy Hotel Mr. Amberiotis was picking his teeth with a toothpick and grinning to himself.
Everything was going very nicely.
He had had his usual luck. Fancy those few kind words of his to that idiotic¹ hen of a woman
being so richly repaid. Oh! well — cast your bread upon the waters. He had always been a
kindhearted man. And generous! In the future he would be able to be even more generous.
Benevolent² visions floated before his eyes. Little Dimitri … And the good Constantopopolus
struggling with his little restaurant … What pleasant surprises for them….
The toothpick probed unguardedly and Mr. Amberiotis winced³. Rosy⁴ visions of the future faded
and gave way to apprehensions⁵ of the immediate⁶ future. He explored tenderly with his tongue. He
took out his notebook. Twelve o’clock. 58, Queen Charlotte Street.
He tried to recapture his former exultant⁷ mood. But in vain. The horizon had shrunk to six bare
words:
“58, Queen Charlotte Street. Twelve o’clock.”
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