At any rate, having controlled their emotions to the degree that I deemed proper in middle-aged personages, especially Annabel, whom, as it has been averred, is given to flights of fancy not un-akin to insanity, we descended the main stairway of the abode and strode casually into the kitchen, whereupon Annabel, behaving like a real dream, which shocked the shit out of me, gave Berry-berry a perfectly natural peck on the cheek and started to make toast, at which point Ralph, with likewise naturalness, reached into his bag of dirty jokes, withdrew the oldest and moldiest one he could find and, turning to Berry-berry, who had seated himself under the ivy pots on the windowsill, inquired, “Have you seen anything of Herby lately?” At which, Berry-berry, playing along dutifully and with considerable pleasure to himself, inquired, “Herby who?” Ralph answered, “Herby Hind.” This was followed by general laughter, and a reprimanding ogle from Annabel who, notwithstanding her self-appointment as guardian of the world’s moral fibers, was thrilled pink by the familial felicity of the gathering at large, and whipped out a jar of marmalade. In view of the great age of this delicacy, which she has been hoarding since B.C., I was pleasantly stunned to perceive that it had not turned moldy on the shelf, and helped myself to abundant portions, having developed an eager palate during my night of revelry in Berry-berry’s brothel.

(Not that I think this is great or anything, but I know my style improves when I slow down. Also experience helps, plus misery, etc. But, to get back to the point . . .)

Anyway, pretty soon it got around to just general talking. Ralph spiked his and Berry-berry’s coffee with Old Grandad. Me, of course, being only four and a half years old, I got passed up completely. Small point, to hell with it, I don’t even particularly like the stuff. But I might just add that I wouldn’t mind once in a while getting a chance to say no thanks. Small point, though.

Then it got to be quite a bull session with Ralph and Berry-berry comparing notes on travel experiences, and both of them lying like hell, Berry-berry for obvious reasons and Ralph because he can’t help it any more. Annabel started peeling potatoes and acted like she was really interested in every word, but the wheels in her head were grinding about a mile a minute, because she knew she wasn’t getting the whole scoop from Berry-berry. But she controlled herself and did hardly any real prosecuting to speak of, except for a couple of minor nudges. Like when Berry-berry made some passing remark about Biloxi, she asked if he was employed as a window dresser by the department store where he smashed hell out of the Christmas display. I think she knew damn well he hadn’t been. Anyway, Berry-berry said, real cool, without even hardly looking at her, “No, as a matter of fact, I was drunk,” and then he went right on talking about something else. But anyway, the truth seemed to quiet her down. I didn’t even listen to everything they said. Oh, I listened, but now and then I sort of checked out and thought about Echo, and what I’d do when she pulled up in her Dodge at noon.