“Mostly I just kill time,” he said, “and it dies hard. A little tennis, a little golf, a little swimming and horseback riding, and the exquisite pleasure of watching Sylvia’s friends trying to hold out to lunch time before they start killing their hangovers.” “The night you went to Vegas she said she didn’t like drunks.” He grinned crookedly. I was getting so used to his scarred face that I only noticed it when some change of expression emphasized its one-sided woodenness. “She meant drunks without money. With money they are just heavy drinkers. If they vomit in the lanai, that’s for the
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