Slowly and with a bitter smile the woman repeated the English phrase: "'A blow on the head!' . . ."
"That's what did the trick for me—and I don't mind telling you it hurt like the devil."
"But what of the blow to my heart?" Her closed hand smote Liane's breast. "You complain with reason of having been robbed of seven months of memory; but what of me, who stand to lose seven months of memories?"
"Pardon?" Lanyard queried, politely dense.
"You loved me well in that time while you were your old, true self."
"Loved you, Liane? And forgot! Ah, no! you ask me to believe too much."
"You jest—and my heart is breaking!"
"It's no joke to forget an experience like that, something which one man in a million would be lucky to know once in his lifetime."
"One in a million!"
"I beg your pardon: I was counting in your unsuccessful lovers as well."