He lathered his face in silence for a few moments.
"George, I once had Sonia Dainton in the hollow of my hand," he said. "I've done my share of handling crowds and getting my orders carried out, and when we came back from Austria last summer I'd bent her will. You've known me some time, old man, and you know I don't placate Nemesis. I've had a good run for my money and I've not done yet, but Sonia saw me climb from nothing to—well, at least, something. I had money and a position—and by God! I didn't need a Bobby's arm to get across the street! You can tell her that!"
I lit a cigarette and waited for his passion to cool.
"Tell her that, George!" he repeated more quietly.
"If you want to insult her," I said, "you must do it yourself."
"I don't want to meet her!"
"Are you afraid to, Raney?"
"Fear isn't a common fault of mine," he answered.
"Are you afraid to meet her, Raney?" I repeated.
He turned round and faced me, his thin body silhouetted by the sun shining through his pyjamas.