It was a lighter. Expensive and brand-new. The warranty was still sticking out of its leather cover. The red camelskin bore the imprint “MOSES III.” Something like an owner’s seal. And on the top of the lighter were engraved the following words:

If you strike me three times, your wish will be granted.

Miss Hatshepsut was given no chance to examine her booty at length as a new customer came into the store. Behind her back she grasped her right elbow with her left hand and studied the customer.

He was a young man wearing jeans, a blue shirt and brown jacket, and shoes made of some long-haired fur. He carried a raincoat and a tiny box wrapped in gold paper topped with a bow. The first thing she noticed were his pockets. They were perfect, just gaping open a little. Then she glanced at the owner of the pockets. He was unusually gray-haired for one so young. He wore five partings in his hair, all running across his head from ear to ear. He was slim and had strange eyes.

“I bet he’s shortsighted even in his dreams,” she thought and asked him what he would like.

He put the raincoat and box down on a small table near her armchair and said in a shy, warm voice, “I’d like to buy a nightdress. It’s a Christmas present for my wife. She wears a size 8.”