I'll have a peep at him, if I die for it," she muttered, as she went out. It brought no coconut. She wet some absorbent cotton with alcohol and refreshed his face and neck. Her gown was minimalist compared to those concoctions of boning and lace of long ago, she reflected, but that did not stop it from getting caught on 134 brambles and twigs. She was given a glimpse of his soul. "Your business, Sir?" returned the other, stiffly. I don’t want to get old or to watch my kids get married or retire. . He was just getting cross about your being late for dinner—you know his way—when it came. 95 The officer showed her into the sleepy suburban police station, a hub of inactivity on Sunday night except for herself and a slightly drunk woman who had been brought in for DUI. That was the wonder of these stories; one lived in them. But what he could do or might do she could not imagine. ’ ‘But where? Where has he gone? Always he goes off, and he says no word to anyone. Ray Plote would not leave a written explanation.
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