She toyed with the end of her scarf. “You feel that, too?”

He nodded. He took a cigarette from a flat platinum case. “Mind if I smoke? Perhaps you’ll join me?” Maxine took a cigarette, uncertainly. Lighted it from the match he held. Put it to her lips. Coughed, gasped. “Maybe you’re not used to those. I smoke a cheap cigarette because I like ‘em. Dromedaries, those are. Eighteen cents a package.”

Maxine held the cigarette in her unaccustomed fingers. Her eyes were on his face. “You said you thought — you felt — we’d met before?”

“I may be mistaken, but I never forget a face. Where are you from, may I ask?”

Maxine hesitated a moment.