The train howled on through the night. Bond sat and watched the hurrying moonlit landscape and concentrated on keeping awake.
Everything conspired to make him sleep—the hasty metal gallop of the wheels, the hypnotic swoop of the silver telegraph wires, the occasional melancholy, reassuring moan of the steam whistle clearing their way, the drowsy metallic clatter of the couplings at each end of the corridor, the lullaby creak of the woodwork in the little room. Even the deep violet glimmer of the nightlight above the door seemed to say, ‘I will watch for you. Nothing can happen while I am burning. Close your eyes and sleep, sleep.’
The girl’s head was warm and heavy on his lap. There was so obviously just room for him to slip under the single sheet and fit close up against her, the front
