'If—I say if—we borrowed him, we also returned him.'
Counsellor's reply was characteristic, and justified his companion's opinion of his race.
'Damaged—so they say.'
Blivinski considered the dreary landscape.
'We must not believe all we hear. In diplomatic relations, my friend, ethics cease to exist. Diplomacy is after all a simple game—even elementary—a magnificent beggar-my-neighbour which we continue to play into eternity.'
'But there are rules ... even in beggar-my-neighbour,' said the Counsellor.
Blivinski kicked the rug softly from his feet as the carriage drew up.
'One rule, only one,' he remarked; 'Britain loves to feign the Pharisee. We smile—we others—because we understand that her rule and ours is after all the same—self-interest.'
'If that be the case we come back to the law of the Beast,' said the Counsellor.
The Russian put his gloved hand upon the open door and looked back over his shoulder at Counsellor.