"I don't know as it can be done," he muttered, shaking his head slightly, gulping the coffee and setting the cup on the table. "Not so easy, I'm afraid."
"You can do it," she whispered imperiously.
"S'pose you get caught?" he replied cautiously. She waved a hand and shrugged.
"N'importe. C'est la guerre. That don't matter. You can do it, eh?"
Mr. Spokesly rubbed his chin.
"I don't say I can and I don't say I can't. He might be able to get you down there as a passenger."
She shook her head vigorously, and leaned over the table, touching it with her long filbert nails.
"No!" she said. "He says 'no good.' Nobody allowed to go Phyros, nobody to Alexandria. Nobody. You understand?"
He looked at her as she leaned against the table and then his gaze dropped to where the yellow wrap had opened so that he could see her bosom, and he felt a dizziness as he looked away. It was characteristic of Evanthia that she made no sudden gesture of modesty. She leaned there, her white throat and breast lifting evenly as she breathed, awaiting his answer.
"Yes, I understand," he answered, looking out to where the Kalkis was emerging from the distant haze. "But what I don't see is why you want to do it."