“You mean our little beach girl? Oh, she's just a passing whim of Ross's. You know how he is. Always has to be different. She's most likely the result of a midlife crisis.”

What? says Leon, spinning around, toasting Freed and Claire with his finally emptied flute of champagne. “I'm smasheroo,” he informs them, unconvincingly.

“Anyway, I don't care how many notches Nash has on his guitar neck, belt, rifle, bedpost, or anything else notchable.”

And if by chance their Curiosity leads them to ask, what they ſhould not know; it is a great deal better to tell them plainly, than to pop them off with a Falſhood, or a frivolous Answer