“Does he look badly?”
“Very. He was really hurt. I told him I wanted to pop out and see you chaps for a minute.”
“Is he going to fight?”
“Rather. I’m going with you, if you don’t mind.”
“How’s your boy friend?” Mike asked. He had not listened to anything that Brett had said.
“Brett’s got a bull-fighter,” he said. “She had a Jew named Cohn, but he turned out badly.”
Brett stood up.
“I am not going to listen to that sort of rot from you, Michael.”
“How’s your boy friend?”
“Damned well,” Brett said. “Watch him this afternoon.”