“Come and have a drink, then, before you bathe.”
“Might do that. Now you’re not talking rot.”
We got in the taxi. The driver looked around.
“Stop at the nearest bistro,” I said.
“We might as well go to the Closerie,” Brett said. “I can’t drink these rotten brandies.”
“Closerie des Lilas.”
Brett turned to Bill.
“Have you been in this pestilential city long?”
“Just got in to-day from Budapest.”
“How was Budapest?”