There is a tragedy to come. “I have noticed,” he said, “that you seem to delight in taking a topsy-turvy view of life. ” The tired woman sat still for a moment. Why, then, did he touch it? As he climbed heavily into his chair, she was able to note the little beads of sweat under the cracked nether lip. His scent was like sweet perfume in her state, like the sweet smell of infants. Once again the cavalcade was in motion, and winding its way by St. ’ ‘Idiot. He looked eager and flushed and troubled.
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