She was inclined to think that perhaps for a girl the converse of his method was the case; an older man, a man beyond the range of anything “nonsensical,” was, perhaps, the most interesting sort of friend one could meet. “Let your friends act for you. I’ll have to wait here, of course, which means you, Hilary—’ ‘Will have to do tomorrow’s patrol. ” The lights sank, the prelude to the third act was beginning, the music rose and fell in crowded intimations of lovers separated—lovers separated with scars and memories between them, and the curtain went reefing up to display Tristan lying wounded on his couch and the shepherd crouching with his pipe. Nor was he long in making it available. His fears were allayed once he checked the answering machine to hear their analog voices reporting their arrival at the Colorado airport. For hours he seemed to have pleasant dreams of open skies and airplanes, but then the dreams would disintegrate into fleshy charnel house nightmares where he could hear her calling to him through a fog. “My husband knows all.
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