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Frankly, I wish I could make my heart quit doing an extra thump when Wolfe says satisfactory, Archie. It’s childish.
It was obvious that he had been applying the theory of acquired immunity to his hangover.
“But you’ll find that I’m not a nincompoop.” “That point,” Wolfe said, frowning at him, “is relatively unimportant.
What I have in mind is a quality in you which I don’t at all understand but which I know you have. Its frequent result is a willingness on the part of young women to spend time in your company.” “It’s the perfume I use. From Brooks Brothers. They call it Stag at Eve.”
If she lost control completely and started noises and tears there was no telling what Wolfe would do. He might even have tried to act human, which would have been an awful strain on all of us.
