“You put it a little bluntly,” the Colonel said. “But you are very beautiful when you say it.”
“I never cry,” the girl said. “Never. I made a rule not to. But I would cry now.”
“Don’t cry,” the Colonel said. “I’m gentle now and the hell with the rest of it.”
“Say once again that you love me.”
“I love you and I love you and I love you.”
“Will you do your best not to die?”
“Yes.”
“What did the doctor say?”
“So-so.”
“Not worse?”
“No,” he lied.
“Then let us have another Martini,” the girl said. “You know I never drank a Martini until we met.”
“I know. But you drink them awfully well.”
“Shouldn’t you take the medicine?”
“Yes,” the Colonel said. “I should take the medicine.”
“May I give it to you?”
“Yes,” the Colonel said. “You may give it to me.”
They continued to sit at the table in the corner and some people went out, and others came in. The Colonel felt a little dizzy from the medicine and he let it ride. That’s the way it always is, he thought. To hell with it.
He saw the girl watching him and he smiled at her. It was an old smile that he had been using for fifty years, ever since he first smiled, and it was still as sound as your grandfather’s Purdey shot-gun. I guess my older brother has that, he
