Someone rapped on the door. A young man with a massive diagonal forelock, wrapped in what appeared to be a bathrobe. He was grimacing with impatience. Voytek sighed, put down the Air, on a battered foam pad that bore the Amstrad logo, and went to open the door, still wearing the illuminated magnifying glasses. The bathrobed boy—Milgrim saw that it was a very thin, very wrinkled sort of overcoat, perhaps cashmere—swept past Voytek without eye contact, to the rear of the shop, and through a door Milgrim hadn’t previously noticed. "Cunt," said Voytek, neutrally, relocking the door and returning to the Air and the task at hand.