Slowly, beneath the moral cuff of his dress-shirt, Milt's fist closed in
a brown, broad-knuckled lump, and came up in the gesture of a right to
the jaw. But it came up only a foot. The hand opened, climbed to Milt's
face, rubbed his temples, while he sighed: "Nope. Can't even do that. Bigger game now. Used to could--used to be
able to settle things with a punch. But I've got to be more--oh, more
diplomatic now. Oh Lord, how lonely I get for Bill McGolwey. No. That
isn't true. I couldn't stand Bill now. Claire took all that out of me.
Where am I, where am I? Why did I ever get a car that takes a 36 × 6?"