it like that. Miles had his faults same as the rest of us, but I guess he must’ve had some good points too.”
“I guess so,” Spade agreed in a tone that was utterly meaningless, and went out of the alley.
In an all-night drugstore on the corner of Bush and Taylor Streets, Spade used a telephone.
“Precious,” he said into it a little while after he had given a number, “Miles has been shot. … Yes, he’s dead. … Now don’t get excited. … Yes. … You’ll have to break it to Iva. … No, I’m damned if I will. You’ve got to do it. … That’s a good girl. … And keep her away from the office. … Tell her I’ll see her—uh—some time. … Yes, but don’t tie me up to anything. …