I knew him for twenty years, at least I thought I knew him. Suppose he was laughing at fools like us all the time?
He liked to laugh.
Seventy pounds a tube. He wanted me to write for his great medical charity...Perhaps I could have raised the price to eighty pounds for him.
Oh please, for heaven's sakes, stop making him in your image. Harry was real. He wasn't just your friend and my lover, he was Harry.
Well, don't preach wisdom to me. You talk about him as if he had occasional bad manners. Oh, I don't know, I'm just a hack writer who drinks too much and falls in love with girls - you.
Me?
Don't be such a fool, of course.
If you'd rung me up and asked me were you fair or dark or had a moustache, I wouldn't have known.
I am leaving Vienna. I don't care whether Harry was murdered by Kurtz or Popescu or the third man. Whoever killed him, there was some sort of justice. Maybe I would have killed him myself.
A person doesn't change because you find out more.
