I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Let me tell you a little secret about youth,” he said with sudden coldness. “Bernard Shaw said it was wasted on the young, you remember that clever overrated little remark?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it isn’t. The young know how difficult and truly dreadful youth can be. Their youth is wasted on everyone else, that’s the horror. The young have no authority, no respect.”

“You’re mad,” I said. “I don’t think you use what you steal very well. How could you not thrill to the sheer stamina? Glory in the beauty you see reflected in the eyes of those who look at you everywhere you go?”

He shook his head. “That’s for you to enjoy,” he said. “The body’s young the way you’ve always been young. You will thrill to the stamina of it, as you say. You will glory in all those loving looks.” He broke off. He took the final sip of his coffee and stared into the cup.

“No code words,” he said politely.

“Very well.”

“Ah, good,” he said with a full warm smile of amazing brightness. “Remember I offered you a week for this sum,” he said. “It’s your decision to take one full day. Perhaps after you’ve had a taste you’ll want a much longer time.”

“Perhaps so,” I said. Again, I was distracted by the sight of him, by the sight of the large warm hand which he covered now with the glove.

“And another switch will cost you another handsome sum,” he said merrily, all smiles now, as he arranged his scarf within his lapels. “Yes, of course.”

“Money really doesn’t mean anything to you, does it?” he asked, thoughtfully.

“Nothing at all.” How tragic for you, I thought, that it means so much.

“Well, perhaps I should take my leave now, and allow you to make your preparations. I shall see you Wednesday as planned.”

“Don’t try to run out on me,” I said in a low voice, leaning forward slightly, and then lifting my hand and touching his face.

The gesture clearly startled him; he became motionless, like an animal in the wood who suddenly sensed danger where there had been none before. But his expression remained calm, and I let my fingers rest against his smoothly shaven skin.

Then I moved them down slowly, feeling the firmness of his jawbone, and then I placed my hand on his neck. Here, too, the razor had passed, leaving its faint dark shadow; the skin was firm, surprisingly muscular, and a clean, youthful scent rose from it as I saw the sweat break out on his forehead, as I saw his lips move in a surprisingly graceful smile.

“Surely you enjoyed being young just a little,” I said under my breath.

He smiled, as if he knew just how radiant and seductive the smile could be.

“I dream the dreams of the young,” he said. “And they are always dreams of being older, and richer, and wiser, and stronger, don’t you think?”