His thoughts had turned to Ian again, and he determined that, with no sleeping powder forthcoming, he would simply have to pour whiskey down Ians throat until the poor fellow passed out.
Paul looked unbelievingly at the last line, then picked the Royal up - he had gone on lifting it like some weird barbell when she was out of the room, God knew why - and shook it again. But if he got Careless away from the lions, the counsellor would look at the circle again and ask the games other question, one that recalled his current situation clearly to mind again.