Don shrugged. "Oh, I don't know," he said. "Lot of work, of course. Pride of accomplishment, maybe. Peace of mind. Hard to say. Only one thing I'm sure of. I wouldn't work out here."
"I don't get it." Pete shook his head.
Don looked at him, his face expressionless.
"Look, Pete. Do you really like me?"
"Why, of course. You saved my life and set me on the throne. I told you that."
"Not just what I mean. Do you feel perfectly relaxed and easy when I'm around? Would you really call me a close friend?"
Pete squirmed in his chair. Uneasily, he looked overhead at the tassled canopy.
"That's a lousy way to put it," he complained.
"Well?" Don's face was still expressionless.
Pete forced himself to look directly at him.