” “You didn’t tell them our position?” “I implied we had married. She dreaded leaving him for the night, but separated herself finally. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. Still, that leaves over a million shrines short, not reckoning widows who re-marry. “I’m so glad you’re here, Peter,” she said. A woman touched him lightly on the arm, and smiled into his face. Of course I know nothing of what really did happen in Paris—if even you ever saw him there. She could smell him almost as strongly as she could the new paint on the fire escape walls, along with the wool suit and the weird polyester smell of his wet umbrella.
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