Dink doesn't do it. Dink didn't do it to Lizzyboo and he hasn't done it to Hope either: so Hope's clean, more or less (though I won't use it. I don't need it). Dink'll roll around and everything, and neck and pet. You can see him in the nude if you really insist. But he doesn't do it. He fears for his tennis — his rollover backhands, his whorfing smashes. Dink hasn't come for thirteen years. And the hairy bastard is still only the world ninety-nine.

There's also the fatal-disease consideration. If Dink caught one of them, he'd stop being the world ninety-nine. And start being the world five-and-a-half billion. Dink's smart. Dink's hip. He knows that dead men don't play tennis. That's how come he has this rule.