“If I don’t I can leave it. But I’ve lived in one.”
“Where?”
“Belgrade.”
“Are you a Serb then? Georgev said you were Bosnian.”
“I am a Serb; and Georgev is a fool.”
“So you’ve lived in Belgrade, have you?” I said as a thought occurred to me. Did he know who Gatrina was? “How did you come to change so toward—toward Mademoiselle?”
“She told me something about herself when you got that crack on the head.”
“You didn’t tell me?”
“She made me promise not to speak.”
I had been pretty blind, it seemed.