'Rattled me.'
'I'll bet.'
'What do we do now, I thought. Artificial respiration, oxygen, what?'
'You're not exaggerating, are you, Yasmin?'
'God no. The man was contorted. He was paralysed. He was garotted. He couldn't speak.'
'Was he conscious?'
'Who knows?'
'Did you think he might kick the bucket?'
'I reckoned it was about even money.'
'You really thought that?'
'You only had to look at him.'
'Christ, Yasmin.'
'I stood there by the door and I remember thinking well whatever happens, this old buzzard's written his last play. "Hello there, Mr Shaw," I said. "Wakey
wakey."'
'Could he hear you?'
'I doubt it. And through his whiskers I could see white stuff, like brine, forming on his lips.'
'How long did all this last?'
'A couple of minutes. And on top of everything else I began worrying about his heart.'
'Why his heart, for God's sake?'
'He was going purple in the face. I could see his skin going purple.'
'Asphyxia?'
'Something like that,' Yasmin said. 'Isn't this steak and kidney delicious?'
'It's very good.'
'Then all of a sudden he came back to earth. He blinked his eyes, took one look at me, gave a sort of Indian whoop, leaped out of his chair and started tearing off his clothes. "The Irish are coming!" he yelled. "Gird up your loins, madam! Gird up your loins and prepare for battle!"'
'Not exactly a eunuch then.'
'It didn't look like it.'
'How did you manage to roll the old rubbery thing on him?'
'There's only one way when they get violent,' Yasmin said. 'I grabbed hold of his snozzberry and hung on to it like grim death and gave it a twist or two to make him hold still.'
'Ow.'
'Very effective.'