The cranky elevator stopped and Martin helped The Duke into the hall.
As they approached his room a slim woman—a beautiful Eurasian, so Martin judged by the hall’s dim light, stepped from the door and ran at him.
“Fag!” she cried, as she tried to strike his face.
Martin wrapped her long hair around his wrist, and holding his friend and the woman, entered the room.
The Duke ran to the window, looking out.
“I’ll jump!” he said. “This rat-hole’s too crowded. It’ll call the police.” He stood, bending down to the sill.
“Go ahead,” said Martin, watching him closely, his hand still wrapped in the beautiful long blue hair of the squirming girl.
“No, I’ll hide from them,” cried the Duke, and he began to crawl under the carpet.
The Eurasian, slant-eyed, watched him. Then quickly she turned to Martin.