twenty, sahib.
i can do anything you want, sahib. she fingers the hebrew letter at max's throat, on its gold chain. for a moment, max is mesmerized by this child; but then, as she begins more serious ministra- tions, he pulls back.
is problems, sahib?
no, please, yes, i can --
now, you are ready for great pleasure, yes?
special drink for you, sahib. only the most man can drink it. you make try. for me.
who that finish first. i bet! she puts her glass to her lips and, in a childish, exaggerated way, mimes waiting for him to commence a drinking race with her. the two of them toss off what's in their glasses. the bangla in max's glass is stronger than battery acid. he does an elaborate routine involv- ing the pain, the surprise, the sheer awfulness of the drink. but puts it down with mock machismo.
i beat!
we have fun some more. i bet again!
joan di, my sister!
meeta will die.