START: CHARLIE: Well, Mr.--
TSHEMBE: (Turning, crisply) Matoseh.
CHARLIE: (Hand extended) Morris. (They shake It is cursory, abrupt; the pace set by the African’s disinterest) How’s about a drink? I know where they keep the liquor and its pretty decent stuff. Even without ice.
[... …]
END: TSHEMBE: I don’t care what happens here--anywhere! (She writhes in agony) I am not responsible. (Then stillness: the “sleeping lioness” of the lore. She rises; a tremor of wakefulness possesses her and she reaches out for him and dances the unmistakable dance of the warriors--beckoning urgently, insistently.) It is not my affair! (Abruptly she sweeps up a spear and thrusts it before him and he clutches it, automatically, to stop it falling, then sees it in his hand. Screaming.) I HAVE RENOUNCED ALL