Mrs. Maguire let out a sort of yelping sound. Without a word, I poured her another glass, and then continued:
“And then of course there are the hoodlums themselves, mostly lousy Mcs and the like, who have answered the call.”
“The call to what?”
“Well," I said, annoyed. What wasn't she understanding? "Obviously, the call to quench the public’s insatiable autumnal thirst. Sure, it's illegal. But that hasn't stopped anyone from wanting it, and it certainly hasn't stopped anyone from getting it. I’m afraid it’s a very bad scene, Mrs. Maguire."
"There’s... there's just so much flannel.”
"Oh, I know."
“So what can we do about this?” she asked officiously. I thought she must be emboldened by the Spice.
“Look, Mrs. Maguire. This isn’t easy to say. It never is. But…”
“What? What is it now? Oh, just tell me! Please! ”
Alright, that's the way you want to play it then? Fine. No sugar, here's the medicine, the straight dope:
"Sure, the papers all say we're starting to win the fight, that Demon Spice is nearly vanquished. But the way I see it, there's more of it pumping through Americans’ veins than ever. There's more spice-easies in the Village than there were ever taverns or saloons in all of New York."