3: Fleur De Lilas
VALLON stopped the car at a little inn on the west side of Fair-mile. Now the shadows were darker. The summer evening was beginning to fade. He thought it was a good time of the day— if you worried about what the day was like.
He went into the inn; bought himself a whisky and soda; drank it slowly. He wondered what he was going to do. After he'd finished the drink, he drove on. He stopped the car and pulled on to the grass verge a few miles further towards Paignton. He sat behind the wheel, smoking, still wondering what he was going to do.
Life, thought Vallon, was essentially a matter of what you were going to do. If you were one of those people who never had to worry about what you were going to do, you led a dull routine existence; the pattern of your life was stale
