“That would be lovely.”
“Should we tell the pitted man that we are going? I think he has the same pits on his heart and in his soul and maybe in his curiosity.”
“We tell him nothing,” the girl said. “The Gran Maestro can convey him any information we wish.”
Then she chewed well and solidly on her steak and said, “Do you think it is true that men make their own faces after fifty?”
“I hope not. Because I would not sign for mine.”
“You,” she said. “You.”
“Is the steak good?” the Colonel asked.
“It’s wonderful. How are your scaloppine?”
“Very tender and the sauce is not at all sweet. Do you like the vegetables?”
“The cauliflower is almost crisp; like celery.”
“We should have some celery. But I don’t think there is any or the Gran Maestro would have brought it.”
“Don’t we have fun with food? Imagine if we could eat together always.”
“I’ve suggested it.”
“Let’s not talk about that.”
“All right,” the Colonel said. “I’ve made a decision too. I’m going to chuck the army and live in this town, very simply, on my retirement pay.”
“That’s wonderful. How do you look in civilian clothes?”
“You’ve seen me.”
