“They’re all right.”
“Yes. They’re all right.”
“How did your friends like them?”
“Fine.”
“Good,” Montoya said.
I went up-stairs. Bill was in his room standing on the balcony looking out at the square. I stood beside him.
“Where’s Cohn?”
“Up-stairs in his room.”
“How does he feel?”
“Like hell, naturally. Mike was awful. He’s terrible when he’s tight.”