Written in 1967.
"He wanted to shake her in his frustration. But her face looked innocent of all guile. Nothing she had said made him feel easier about her, but he had orders to work with her. He turned away to examine the man he had shot. The face was alien to this Scandinavian island of tall blonds. The cheek bones were high, the eyes faintly slanted, the moustache drooping. The clothes had no labels. Aside from the Luger, the dead man had no identification. The face had a definite Tartar cast, a hint of deep Asia in its broad contours. Such a man might have ridden west with the hordes of Genghis Khan centuries ago."