Girl in Santiago

Willie ran a hand down his cheek. ‘Lovely,’ he said. ‘Thanks, Princess.’ He stretched luxuriously. ‘Did I ever tell you about that girl in Santiago?’
‘I don’t think so. Not in Santiago.’ She rinsed the razor under the basin tap and dried it.
‘Very good she was,’ Willie said reminiscently. ‘ ’Ighly passionate. But she wasn’t interested ’cept when I was bristly. Didn’t like a beard, but couldn’t stand a clean shave. It ’ad to be bristles.’
‘Kinky. But harmless.’ Modesty closed the razor, put it on a small shelf, and stretched out on the other bunk. ‘What happened, Willie?’
‘Well, nothing much. I wasn’t there long. And anyway, it’s ’ard just to stay bristly. She married a barber. He used to run the ’air-clippers over his chin. That way he was all set, twenty-four hours a day. When I saw ’im again two years later he looked just about ready to go up with the blind.’
(Modesty Blaise, chapter 16)