He fingered a leaf, as though uncertain of how to answer. A small man with a fine head of coarse white hair, he has a bony, sloping face better suited to someone far taller; his complexion seems permanently sunburned: now it grew even redder. ‘I can‘t say exactly heard from her. I mean, I don‘t know. That‘s why I want your opinion. Let me build you a drink. Something new. They call it a White Angel,‘ he said, mixing one-half vodka, one-half gin, no vermouth.
While I drank the result, Joe Bell stood
sucking on a Tums and turning over in his mind what he had to tell me. Then: ‘You recall a certain Mr I. Y. Yunioshi? A gentleman from Japan.‘
(6/130p) - P6
He considered a moment. ‘No,‘ he said, and shook his head. ‘I‘ll tell you why. If she was in this city I‘d have seen her. You take a man that likes to walk, a man like me, a man‘s been walking in the streets going on ten or twelve years, and all those years he‘s got his eye out for one person, and nobody‘s ever her, don‘t it stand to reason she‘s not there? I see pieces of her all the time, a flat little bottom, any skinny girl that walks fast and straight- He paused, as though too aware of how intently I was looking at him. - P11
I know she‘s still there because I went up the steps and looked at the mailboxes. It was one of these mailboxes that had first made me aware of Holly Golightly. - P13
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