Mike was draped over the laminate kitchen counter, on the phone as usual. He hated horizons. He could not tell whether she was English or American. I am shockingly poor. Play fair with her. She had never been to the opera before except as one of a congested mass of people in the cheaper seats, and with backs and heads and women’s hats for the frame of the spectacle; there was by contrast a fine large sense of space and ease in her present position. Can’t travel alone, a pair of nuns. I never could. Recovery impossible.
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