"Sorry, son," MacCauley said with the barrel-scrapings of his patience. "I said no and I meant it. I haven't got anything to give you. Now please stop waggling at me and go." The excited glitter of the Palladian's luminiferous eyes died dispiritedly. MacCauley turned his back on the slight-bodied asterite and rapped his thumbnail against his drained glass. The bartender, a heavy and humorous man, expertly refilled Mac's glass with oily, musky, milk-white synthetic liquor and said: "This Kiddie bothering you? Scat, you, or I'll see that you never get into this place again."…
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