Morgan Joyce drank one glass after another, and the others had no choice but to keep up. By the end, one or two who couldn't hold their liquor had all run off to the restroom.
Although Morgan Joyce wasn't drunk, he was already tipsy. Coupled with his bad mood, his head throbbed with a dull ache. He set down his glass and raised a hand to rub his temples.
The woman who had been sitting beside Morgan Joyce stood up gracefully. She walked over in her high heels until she was behind him, and her soft, slender hands suddenly covered the back of his. "Morgan Joyce, let me get that for you."
Mr. Lorell, just returning from the restroom, pushed the door open to see someone eagerly digging their own grave. He shook his head with a TSK TSK. 'Isn't it nice being alive? Why do they have to find such creative ways to court death? Women...'
