Before Blunt could defend his strategy, Kosalowsky sat up in his bunk. "Yes, for cripes sake," he said, "Move in for the kill. Or shut up about it. You're driving us all nuts."
"Would you like to try?" Blunt suggested softly.
"Sure I'll try," Kosalowsky said. He turned on the light over his bunk. "Give me a crack at her. I could have managed it weeks ago. All you've done is talk to the quail."
"Yah, Dick, maybe you're using the wrong approach on this one," O'Connors suggested.
"It's the damn places you take her," Kosalowsky said. "Art galleries. Anybody ever seduce a girl in an art gallery? Symphonies. Popping around in her damn Hop-Hop. Can't you ever get her alone?"
"She lives with ten other girls," Blunt said sulkily. "They're all home all the time."
"Well, bring her here, then," Pane suggested. "We'll all take a powder."
"Where?"
There was no answer. They could not all, by day, desert the ship, and it was getting too chilly for the crew to hide in adjacent shrubbery. "We could put up a wall," Pane said suddenly, "between the bunks and the bar."
"With what?"