Neue Zürcher Zeitung, Die Welt and half a dozen British dailies and weeklies. As he
watched, the girl came round to the front of the kiosk and pushed an Evening
Standard into the rack. Leamas hurried across to the bookstall and took the paper
from the rack.
‘How much?’ he asked. Thrusting his hand into his trouser pocket he suddenly
realised that he had no Dutch currency.
‘Thirty cents,’ the girl replied. She was rather pretty; dark and jolly.
‘I’ve only got two English shillings. That’s a guilder. Will you take them?’
‘Yes, please,’ she replied, and Leamas gave her the florin. He looked back; Peters
was still at the passport desk, his back turned to Leamas. Without hesitation he
made straight for the men’s lavatory. There he glanced rapidly but thoroughly at
each page, then shoved the paper in the litter basket and re-emerged. It was true:
there was his photograph with the vague little passage underneath. He wondered
if Liz had seen it. He made his way thoughtfully to the passengers’ lounge. Ten
minutes later they boarded the plane for Hamburg and Berlin. For the first time
since it all began, Leamas was frightened.
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