“Not like. It was that one. May I touch it carefully with my fingers if it does not hurt?”
“It does not hurt. Where it hurts is in the head, the legs and the feet. I don’t believe there’s any sensation in that hand.”
“You’re wrong,” she said. “Richard. There is very much sensation in that hand.”
“I don’t like to look at it much. You don’t think we could skip it.”
“Of course. But you don’t have to dream about it.”
“No. I have other dreams.”
“Yes. I can imagine. But I dream lately about this hand. Now that I have touched it carefully, we can talk about funny things if you like. What is there funny we should talk about?”
“Let’s look at the people and discuss them.”
“That’s lovely,” she said. “And we won’t do it with malice. Only with our best wit. Yours and mine.”
“Good,” the Colonel said. “Waiter, Ancora due Martini.”
He did not like to call for Montgomerys in a tone that could be overheard because there were two obvious Britishers at the next table.
The male might have been wounded, the Colonel thought, although, from his looks, it seems unlikely. But God help me to avoid brutality. And look at Renata’s eyes, he thought. They are probably the most beautiful of all the beautiful things she has, with the longest honest lashes I have ever seen and she never uses them for anything
