“Wait where, Georgi?”
A long silence. And then, barely audible:
“Ninetieth Street. House seven. Seventh floor....”
Slim did not question him further. He knew who lived there. He looked at the doctor; the latter’s face wore a completely impenetrable expression.
Slim drew a breath as though he were sighing. He said, more deploringly than inquiringly:
“Why did you not rather go there, Georgi....”
He turned to go but stopped still as Georgi’s voice came wavering after him.
“... The city .... all the lights ... more than enough money.... It is written.... Forgive us our trespasses ... lead us not into temptation....”
His voice died away. His head fell to one side. He breathed as though his soul wept, for his eyes could do so no longer.
The doctor cleared his throat cautiously.