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"
Leave
him
alone
,
Mr
.
Kovacs
.
Weren
’
t
you
ever
nineteen
?
"
I
glanced
over
my
shoulder
to
where
Miriam
Bancroft
stood
with
her
hands
in
the
pockets
of
a
loose
,
desert
-
coloured
ensemble
apparently
modelled
on
Sharyan
harem
-
wear
.
Her
long
hair
was
caught
up
under
a
swathe
of
the
ochre
cloth
and
her
eyes
glinted
in
the
sun
.
I
remembered
suddenly
what
Ortega
had
said
about
Nakamura
.
They
use
her
face
and
body
to
sell
the
stuff
.
Now
I
could
see
it
,
the
casual
poise
of
a
fashion
-
house
sleeve
demonstrator
.
I
let
go
of
Curtis
’
s
hair
and
stood
back
while
he
climbed
to
his
feet
.
"
I
wasn
’
t
this
stupid
at
any
age
,
"
I
said
untruthfully
.
"
Do
you
want
to
tell
him
to
back
off
,
instead
?
Maybe
he
’
ll
listen
to
you
.
"
"
Curtis
,
go
and
wait
for
me
in
the
limousine
.
I
won
’
t
be
long
.
"
"
Are
you
going
to
let
him
—
"
"
Curtis
!
"
There
was
a
cordial
astonishment
in
her
tone
,
as
if
there
must
be
some
mistake
,
as
if
answering
back
just
wasn
’
t
on
the
menu
.
Curtis
’
s
face
flushed
when
he
heard
it
,
and
he
stalked
away
from
us
with
tears
of
consternation
standing
in
his
eyes
.
I
watched
him
out
of
sight
,
still
not
convinced
I
shouldn
’
t
have
hit
him
again
.
Miriam
Bancroft
must
have
read
the
thought
on
my
face
.
"
I
would
have
thought
even
your
appetite
for
violence
had
been
sated
by
now
,
"
she
said
quietly
.
"
Are
you
still
looking
for
targets
?
"
"
Who
says
I
’
m
looking
for
targets
?
"
"
You
did
.
"
