“ ‘No,’ said Cohn. ‘I’d be ashamed to.’
“So the bullfighter fellow hit him just as hard as he could in the face, and then sat down on the floor. He couldn’t get up, Brett said. Cohn wanted to pick him up and carry him to the bed. He said if Cohn helped him he’d kill him, and he’d kill him anyway this morning if Cohn wasn’t out of town. Cohn was crying, and Brett had told him off, and he wanted to shake hands. I’ve told you that before.”
“Tell the rest,” Bill said.
“It seems the bullfighter chap was sitting on the floor. He was waiting to get strength enough to get up and hit Cohn again. Brett wasn’t having any shaking hands, and Cohn was crying and telling her how much he loved her, and she was telling him not to be a ruddy ass. Then Cohn leaned down to shake hands with the bullfighter fellow. No hard feelings, you know. All for forgiveness. And the bullfighter chap hit him in the face again.”
“That’s quite a kid,” Bill said.
“He ruined Cohn,” Mike said. “You know I don’t think Cohn will ever want to knock people about again.”
“When did you see Brett?”
“This morning. She came in to get some things. She’s looking after this Romero lad.”
He poured out another bottle of beer.
“Brett’s rather cut up. But she loves looking after people. That’s how we came to go off together. She was looking after me.”
“I know,” I said.