Chapter 40

Bones was indulging in his afternoon studies, oblivious to bugles and war, for he had eaten Yorkshire pudding for lunch, and in the coldest of climates Yorkshire pudding is a deadly soporific. Hamilton found him lying uncovered on his bed, a mosquito gauze over his bare feet. His purple pyjamas were striped with pale lemon zigzags—Hamilton clutched the doorpost for support. “Arise, and gird your lions—Venus,” he snarled. Bones blinked himself awake. “All correct, sir,” he said, hoarsely, as he brought his large fee…