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wildly, and removed his thumb long enough to gibber: "But if he's _here!_ In this _house!_ Then how can _I_ . . . ?" -- With which he snatched up his clothes in an untidy bundle, and fled from her presence; she heard thumps and crashes which suggested that his shoes, possibly accompanied by himself, had fallen down the stairs. "Good," she screamed after him. "Chicken, break your neck."
Some moments later, however, Saladin was visited by the purple-faced figure of his estranged and naked-headed wife, who spoke thickly through clamped teeth. "J.J. is standing outside in the street. The damn fool says he can't come in unless you say it's okay with you." She had, as usual, been drinking. Chamcha, greatly astonished, more or less blurted out: "What about you, you want him to come in?" Which Pamela interpreted as his way of rubbing salt in the wound. Turning an even deeper shade of purple she nodded with