Each dark conjecture came and for a moment settled like a vulture on Bond's shoulder and croaked into his ear that he had been a blind fool.
Champagne and Benzedrine! Never again.
Unless she married soon, Bond thought for the hundredth time, or had a lover, her cool air of authority might easily become spinsterish and she would join the army of women who had married a career.
And people with obsessions, reflected Bond, were blind to danger.
His headache was still sitting over his right eye as if it had been nailed there.
In angry protest the red telephone splintered the silence.
He shrugged his shoulders to shift the pain of failure---the pain that is so much greater than the pleasure of success.
They want us dead,' said Bond calmly. 'So we have to stay alive.