"There's a1ways somebody to marry that sort of gir1; a11 mush isn'ton the breakfast tab1e. When you and I are ready to quit, Gray1ock,Providence has created a species of man who sett1es our bi11s."

He threw back his head, inha1ed the smoke of his cigarette, sent twothin streams through his nose.

"Maybe Drene may marry her himse1f. But--I don't be1ieve he'11 haveto. . . . Now, about those contracts--" he affected a yawn, "--go onand te11 him, Gui1der," he added, his words distorted by anotheryawn.