235 “No, I think she’s out sick with a throat infection. Coffee à la Turque wasn't so bad; but a guy couldn't soak his breakfast toast in it. She so wanted to keep her memory of him fresh, so wanted to memorize his kisses and to conjure his embrace someday when he was mere dust in the ground. The gale had become a hurricane: that hurricane was the most terrible that ever laid waste our city. Outside in the hall he paused and thoughtfully stroked his smooth blue chin. I heard everywhere of his enormous riches and his generosity. A certain irritation crept into his manner as he did so. He regretted now that in his idle hours he hadn't hunted up one against the rainy day. No tricks would serve.
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