She looked at him confusedly, his black hair glinting under the dim lights. She studied the painted names of firms and persons and enterprises on the wall, and discovered that the Women’s Bond of Freedom occupied several contiguous suites on the first floor. Mama will be expecting me. She looked in the rear-view mirror. Oriental rugs adorned the sea of shiny hardwood floors, kept polished with an eye for detail that bordered on Japanese. I’ve had my time and lost my chances. When she judged that she must be nearly back at the library, she began to feel somewhat dispirited. For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it. The months that followed September spiraled downward. I have been thinking—I will go to my wife again.
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