Believe me was not hinting. Rather die. But oh, what miracle. Please do not ask Echo if inconvenient, but honestly would be gesture from God if you sincerely want her visit. She’s so considerate, would never come if believed you didn’t want her. Impossible I accompany her, as trips are hard for me. Could you write her note? So it comes from you? Must not suspect me involved. Echo dying for trip, studies road maps, could find way to China. Bless you, drst. friend Annabel. Always hold fine thoughts for you. But do not inconvenience self too much!

Your loving friend.
B—

P.S. Was not suggesting you take lover! More about this in later letter.

Aside from using Annabel’s bath hour to catch up on the daily mail, he often had telephone calls to make. One day he called Western Union and persuaded a clerk to return his unclaimed money order in a plain envelope so that it would arouse no questions from Annabel. He also put in a call to the airport to ask about schedules and ticket prices for flights to Tibet. The woman said they could get him as far as Pakistan or India, but from there on he was on his own. Actually, Clinton was fed up with traveling and had no intention of taking a trip, but occasionally such questions enter a person’s head and it is best to get them cleared up.

One afternoon, on a similar impulse, he telephoned Mildred Murphy.

“Hi, Mildred. It’s Clinton.”

“Clinton? Clinton who?”

“Williams, for godsake!”

“Oh! Hello, Clinton.”

“How you been?”

“Oh, I’m fine. There hasn’t been any letters from Berry-berry, though.”

“Oh, I wasn’t callin’ about that. I get all my mail at home now.”

“You mean you’ve heard from him?”

“God, yes; didn’t I tell you about my trip? I been to South America and all over. He got in trouble down there on some island. So I helped him out. Then I got malaria and came home.”

“Malaria?” Mildred was impressed.

“Pretty near died from it.”

“Well, that’s just terrible.”

“I was delirious and everything. —Say, how many Clintons do you know, just roughly? About five or ten?”

“Oh, just you,” she said, “but my mind went blank for some reason.”

“So everything’s okay over there, eh?” Clinton said.

“Over where?”

“The Neighborhood!”

“Oh. Well, everything’s just the same.”

“Nobody’s house burnt down, huh?”

“Whose?”

“Nobody’s. I said, ‘Nobody’s house burnt down, huh?”

“Of course not! That’s a terrible thing to say.”

“I just meant, is there any news, for godsake.” Clinton was beginning to wish he had not telephoned Mildred Murphy at all.

“Oh. No, no news at all. But you’ll have to tell me about your trip. Some time.”

“Well, there’s not really anything I can discuss about it. Actually, everything that happened is pretty much secret. You know how it is.”