“She is now,” a voice said. The young Jew had picked himself up. He looked a mess, fine clothes and all. I thought he would try to rush me, but not he! He just smiled and said quite calmly: “I’ll make a note of that, Sir Charles Fasset-Faith. Come on, Manana.”
But I wasn’t letting “Manana” go just yet. The poor kid.
“What’s his name?” I asked her.
She stared at me. I never knew what “white” really meant until I saw that child’s teeth.
“His name?” I repeated. Gently, you know.
She whispered: “Julian Raphael.”
That young Jew’s voice hit me on the back of the neck like a knife. “You’ll pay for that, Manana! See if you don’t!”
By the way, it isn’t just rhetoric about the knife. It was like a knife. But I’ll tell you more about knives later.
“Look here,” I said to the devilish boy, “if you so much as——”