‘Yes.’
‘But surely you can’t be thirsty, Diaz?’ I protested.
‘Must I repea’ wha’ I said?’ he glared at me. ‘I’m thirsty. Give me the bottle.’
I took out the bottle nearest to hand. It was of a dark green colour, and labelled ‘Extrait d’Absinthe. Pernod fils.’
‘Not this one, Diaz?’
‘Yes,’ he insisted. ‘Give it me. And get a glass and some water.’
‘No,’ I said firmly.
‘Wha’? You won’t give it me?’
‘No.’
He jumped up recklessly and faced me. His hat fell off the back of his head.