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I have this trick leg but at half gee I can manage the classic slow dances-
waltz, frottage glide, tango, and so forth. Gwen is a warm, live, fragrant
bundle; dancing with her is a Sybaritic treat.
It was a gay ending to a happy evening. There was still the matter of the
stranger who had had the bad taste to get himself killed at my table. But, since
Gwen seemed not to be aware of the unpleasant incident, I had tabled it in my
mind, to be dealt with later. To be sure I was ready any moment for that tap on
the shoulder... but in the meantime I enjoyed good food, good wine, good
company. Life is filled with tragedy;
if you let it overwhelm you, you cannot enjoy life's innocent pleasures.
Gwen knows that my leg won't take much dancing; at the first break in the
music she led us back to our table. I signaled Morris for the check. He produced
it out of midair; I dialed my credit code into it, set it for standard gratuity
plus half, added my thumbprint.
Morris thanked me. "A nightcap, sir? Or a brandy? Perhaps the lady would
enjoy a liqueur? Compliments of Rainbow's End." The owner of the restaurant, an
ancient Egyptian, believed in good measure-at least to his regulars; I'm not
sure how tourists from dirtside were treated.
"Gwen?" I queried, expecting her to refuse-Gwen's drinking is limited to
one glass of wine at meals. One.
"A Cointreau would be pleasant