"You can spare us the jokes," said Bond roughly. "Get on with your story, Kraut."
The ma?tre d'h?tel supervised the serving of the second course and then as they ate the delicious food, Bond continued.
I looked doubtfully from one to the other, but I could see little of the faces under the oilskin hoods. It sounded all right, but I didn't like it. I said nervously, "But the Phanceys, the managers, they didn't say anything about you coming."
"It stands up adequately. The greatest Fabergй pieces were nearly always privately commissioned. Miss Freudenstein says that her grandfather was a vastly rich man before the revolution-a porcelain manufacturer. Ninety-nine percent of all Fabergй's output has found its way abroad. There are only a few pieces left in the Kremlin-described simply as 'pre-revolutionary examples of Russian jewelry.' The official Soviet view has always been that they are merely capitalist baubles. Officially they despise them as they officially despise their superb collection of French Impressionists."
"Fine," said Bond. "Go easy on A20. The Dover road's a dangerous place these days."
The "so on," I thought, meant "the thing" he had bought. I was aghast. I said urgently, "Oh, but I can't, Derek! I simply can't! You've no idea how awful I feel about what happened."
He fanned the two cards under the curtain of his hand. The muscles of his jaw rippled as he clenched his teeth. His whole body stiffened in a reflex of self-defence.
But when they set the bier down on the threshold, they looked at one another, and at me, and whispered. I knew why. They felt as if it were not right to lay him down in the same quiet room. 2020-07-04 13:00:56