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"
That
great
voice
,
"
Karkov
said
.
"
That
great
face
.
Write
it
,
"
he
said
.
"
Don
’
t
tell
it
to
me
.
Don
’
t
waste
whole
paragraphs
on
me
.
Go
and
write
it
now
.
"
"
Not
just
now
.
"
"
I
think
you
’
d
better
,
"
Karkov
said
and
looked
at
him
,
and
then
looked
away
.
The
puffy
-
eyed
man
stood
there
a
couple
of
minutes
more
holding
his
glass
of
vodka
,
his
eyes
,
puffy
as
they
were
,
absorbed
in
the
beauty
of
what
he
had
seen
and
heard
and
then
he
left
the
room
to
write
it
.
Karkov
went
over
to
another
man
of
about
forty
-
eight
,
who
was
short
,
chunky
,
jovial
-
looking
with
pale
blue
eyes
,
thinning
blond
hair
and
a
gay
mouth
under
a
bristly
yellow
moustache
.
This
man
was
in
uniform
.
He
was
a
divisional
commander
and
he
was
a
Hungarian
.
"
Were
you
here
when
the
Dolores
was
here
?
"
Karkov
asked
the
man
.
"
Yes
.
"
"
What
was
the
stuff
?
"
"
Something
about
the
fascists
fighting
among
themselves
.
Beautiful
if
true
.
"
"
You
hear
much
talk
of
tomorrow
.
"
"
Scandalous
.
All
the
journalists
should
be
shot
as
well
as
most
of
the
people
in
this
room
and
certainly
the
intriguing
German
unmentionable
of
a
Richard
.
Whoever
gave
that
Sunday
függler
command
of
a
brigade
should
be
shot
.
Perhaps
you
and
me
should
be
shot
too
.
It
is
possible
,
"
the
General
laughed
.
"
Don
’
t
suggest
it
though
.
"
