"There's a bench," Sollenar said. "Let's sit down."
"As you wish." Ermine moved beside Sollenar to the bench, but remained standing.
"What is it, Mr. Sollenar?"
"I want your help. You advised me on what Burr had. It's still in his office building, somewhere. You have resources. We can get it."
"Laissez faire, Mr. Sollenar. I visited you in an advisory capacity. I can do no more."
"For a partnership in my affairs could you do more?"
"Money?" Ermine tittered. "For me? Do you know the conditions of my employment?"
If he had thought, Sollenar would have remembered. He reached out tentatively. Ermine anticipated him.
Ermine bared his left arm and sank his teeth into it. He displayed the arm. There was no quiver of pain in voice or stance. "It's not a legend, Mr. Sollenar. It's quite true. We of our office must spend a year, after the nerve surgery, learning to walk without the feel of our feet, to handle objects without crushing them or letting them slip, or damaging ourselves. Our mundane pleasures are auditory, olfactory, and visual. Easily gratified at little expense. Our dreams are totally interior, Mr. Sollenar. The operation is irreversible. What would you buy for me with your money?"