I said, “She’s a pocket edition — warm eyes, light hair, very small, but perfectly formed. High cheekbones, full lips. Sort of a baby stare, and…”
He interrupted me, to make a motion with his hand, a lazy motion which pivoted at the wrist, much as a swimming seal would casually twist a flipper.
“Know her?”
“Hell, yes. I know a hundred of them. They all come in. They all look the same. It’s a model you’re describing, not an individual.”
“This one’s an individual.”
“Well, we’ve got lots of them. I can’t help you on that. You’ll have to look the joint over for yourself.”
I said, “This little number has lots of fire, quite a bit of individuality.”
“Know her name?”
“I know the name she gave me — Lucille Hart.”
“Don’t know her.”