that he passed. There’s a lot of oxygen in this air, he thought, as he faced into the wind and breathed deeply.
Then he was pulling open the door of Harry’s bar and was inside and he had made it again, and was at home.
At the bar a tall, very tall, man, with a ravaged face of great breeding, merry blue eyes, and the long, loose-coupled body of a buffalo wolf, said, “My ancient and depraved Colonel.”
“My wicked Andrea.”
They embraced and the Colonel felt the rough texture of Andrea’s handsome tweed coat that must have been entering, at least, its twentieth year.
“You look well, Andrea,” the Colonel said.
It was a lie and they both knew it.
“I am,” said Andrea, returning the lie. “I must say I never felt better. You look extraordinarily well, yourself.”
“Thank you, Andrea. Us healthy bastards shall inherit the earth.”
“Very good idea. I must say I wouldn’t mind inheriting something these days.”
“You have no kick. You’ll inherit well over six feet four of it.”
“Six feet six,” said Andrea. “You wicked old man. Are you still slaving away at la vie militaire?”
“I don’t slave too hard at it,” the Colonel said. “I’m down to shoot at San Relajo.”
“I know. But don’t make jokes in Spanish at this hour. Alvarito was looking for you. He said to tell you he’d be back.”
