I, too, want to understand—to walk with my head in the light. Gwen—I saw Gwen the other day, and the paint’s thicker than ever. “Your name and address in his pocket was no delusion,” he said sharply. Yet you catch her eye—you can’t seem to escape from it. She felt the thrill race through her body. I made her my unwilling confederate. The autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided. ’ ‘Parbleu, it is I who am the idiot?’ she scolded furiously, removing one hand and digging it into her sleeve.
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