“It's all up now anyway. I don't intend to get nabbed,” said Andrews.
“We got booze,” said Chrisfield.
Slippery had taken dice from his pocket and was throwing them meditatively on the floor between his feet, snapping his fingers with each throw.
“I'll shoot you one of them bottles, Chris,” he said.
Andrews walked over to the bed. Al was stirring uneasily, his face flushed and his mouth twitching.
“Hello,” he said. “What's the news?”
“They say they're putting up barricades near the Gare de l'Est. It may be something.”
“God, I hope so. God, I wish they'd do everything here like they did in Russia; then we'd be free. We couldn't go back to the States for a while, but there wouldn't be no M.P.'s to hunt us like we were criminals.... I'm going to sit up a while and talk.” Al giggled hysterically for a moment.
“Have a swig of wine?” asked Andrews.
“Sure, it may set me up a bit; thanks.” He drank greedily from the bottle, spilling a little over his chin.