Mahmoud looked wistful. “I should not be tempted by strong drink.” “Allow me.” Jubal looked him over. “Son, you’ve been under nervous strain. Having no meprobamate, I’m forced to substitute two ounces of ninety-proof ethanol, repeat as needed. Any particular flavor?” Mahmoud smiled. “Thank you, Doctor—but I’ll sin my own sins. Gin, please, with water on the side. Or vodka. Or whatever is available.” “Or medicinal alcohol,” Nelson added. “Don’t let him kid you, Jubal. Stinky drinks anything—and regrets it.” “I do regret it,” Mahmoud said earnestly. “It is sinful.”
