of women
at all, it
had been
tentative,
intermittent,
and
somewhat
inconclusive.
But he was
not, after
all that,
a cynic
about
them. He
said with
a laugh:
“I’m
thirty-seven
– you’re
twenty-four.
That’s all
it amounts
to.” After
a pause
Mallinson
asked
suddenly:
“Oh, by
the way,
how old
should you
say Chang
is?”
“Anything,”
replied
Conway
lightly,
“between
forty-nine
and a
hundred
and
forty-nine.”
Such
information,
however,
was less
trustworthy
than much
else that
