The angry Millionaire [antikvár]

The girl with fat legs looked over his shoulder at the map. It was pinned on top of several others because this was the only solid wall amid the glass. She said, "Where's that, Mr. Addis?""Nuristan.""You say it like a girl's name . . Mine's Marlene.""Yes?""As if you cared."He knew he was mean, the sort who wouldn't care enough to ask a girl her name unless her legs would bear looking at. He knew the name of the other girl, who brought his memoranda, papers, and so on from the main research division and sometimes collected the occasional fruits of his slow work on them, for Mr. Anderson's use^if inconceivably he could find one.Perhaps, the trouble was less his cynicism, and of course the low state of his morale, than the brutal demand of these minimal skirts. They put such an onus on what they showed."Nuristan," she repeated; her voice was pleasant, musical, ormeanness againthe word itself would give any voice its chance."Yes.""But that's India," she said, still staring at the big map."North India. Nuristan is part of Afghanistan, its eastern province.""I thought your work was Africa."So. But not his infatuation."A hundred mountains, valleys between so deep the sun never reaches them. Forests, rocks, rivers and more rocks, no roads, scarcely any people in five thousand square miles. You use mules, I suppose, or perhaps it's safer on foot.""You don't know for sure?""Not till I get there.""Don't say they're sending you all that wayl""No.""That's right, you're a desk mana boffin, kind of. You5