“Whatsat?”
“You said you were going to fix him.”
“Yeah. So he’d stay fixed.”
“You certainty did.”
“Too late now,” Flane said gloomily.
Simon looked at him over his glass with a slight frown.
“What d’you mean — too late?”
“Too late to fix him. He’s been fixed.”
“But you did it, didn’t you?”
Flane steadied himself, and a smudgily truculent rigidity came over his face.