"Had you called out my name—'Christine'?"
"No."
"You are sure?"
"Yes."
"Perhaps you were thinking of me? I was thinking of you."
"Perhaps. I don't know. But I'm never surprised."
"You must be very tired?"
"Yes."
"But why are you like that? All these things? You are not an officer now."
"No. I had to resign my commission—just after I saw you." He paused, and added drily: "Whisky." His deep rich voice filled the taxi with the resigned philosophy of fatalism.