“Want a cigarette?” he said.
She nodded, and he took it to her and held the match for its lighting.
“I asked you if you could suggest a way,” he remarked.
She blew a smoke ring toward the ceiling. “Yes, go back to Dornlitz and kill the American.”
“Will you go with me?” banteringly.
“Indeed I won’t,” with a reminiscent smile; “I have quite too vivid a memory of my recent visit there.”
“And the killing—shall I do it by proxy or in person?”
“Any way—so it is done—though one’s best servant is one’s self, you know.”
He had thought her jesting, but now he leaned forward to see her face.
“Surely, you do not mean it,” he said uncertainly.