“We are both strong men,” Raoul said, with a bow. “We might have been fighting for empires a hundred years ago.”
It was Grief's turn to bow.
“As it is, we are squalidly scrapping over the enforcement of the colonial laws of those empires whose destinies we might possibly have determined a hundred years ago.”
“It all comes to dust,” Raoul remarked sen-tentiously, sitting down. “Go ahead with your meal. Don't let me interrupt.”
“Won't you join us?” was Grief's invitation.
The other looked at him with sharp steadiness, then accepted.
“I'm sticky with sweat,” he said. “Can I wash?”
Grief nodded and ordered Mauriri to bring a calabash. Raoul looked into the Goat Man's eyes, but saw nothing save languid uninterest as the precious quart of water was wasted on the ground.
“The dog is thirsty,” Raoul said.
Grief nodded, and another calabash was presented to the animal.