What matters it? My servant, he is wounded—and by a Frenchman, if you wish to make an arrest. Shari was to be protected, to be dissuaded from driving in cars with older boys at night, to be steered away from dope and beer and certain friends who had no plans to work or to go to college. You must be misinformed, Mr. He reminds me of a slave I once had in Rome with those sullen dark eyes and that wistful pout. They were talking of “Alcide,” as they often did in those days. My profession has hardened me. Little more’n a week.
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