“Quit, probably. I’m still thinking about it.”

They were getting changed to go out for a quiet dinner, and at the same time waiting for the news to come on TV. Tying a wide tie with bold stripes, George watched Verena in the mirror as she put on her underwear. Her body had changed in the five years since he had first seen her naked. She would be twenty-nine this year, and she no longer had the leggy charm of a foal. Instead she had gained poise and grace. George thought her mature look was even more beautiful. She had grown her hair in the bushy style called a “natural,” which somehow emphasized the allure of her green eyes.

Now she sat in front of his shaving mirror to do her eye makeup. “If you quit, you could come to Atlanta and work for Martin,” she said.

“No,” said George. “Dr. King is a single-issue campaigner. Protesters protest, but politicians change the world.”

“So what would you do?”

“Run for Congress, probably.”

Verena put down her mascara brush and turned to look directly at him. “Wow,” she said. “That came out of left field.”

“I came to Washington to fight for civil rights, but the injustice suffered by blacks isn’t just a matter of rights,” George said. He had been thinking about this a long time. “It’s about housing and unemployment and the Vietnam War, where young black men are being killed every day. Black people’s lives are affected even by events in Moscow and Peking, in the long term. A man like Dr. King inspires people, but you have to be an all-around politician in order to do any real good.”

“I guess we need both,” Verena said, and went back to doing her eyes.

George put on his best suit, which always made him feel better. He would have a martini later, maybe two. For seven years his life had been bound up inextricably with Robert Kennedy’s. Maybe it was time to move on.

He said: “Does it ever occur to you that our relationship is peculiar?”

She laughed. “Of course! We live apart and meet every month or two for mad passionate sex. And we’ve being doing this for years!”

“A man might do what you do, and meet his mistress on business trips,” George said. “Especially if he were married. That would be normal.”

“I kind of like that idea,” she said. “Meat and potatoes at home, and a little caviar when away.”

“I’m glad to be the caviar, anyway.”

She licked her lips. “Mm, salty.”

George smiled. He would not think about Bobby anymore this evening, he decided.

The news came on TV, and George turned up the volume. He expected Bobby’s announcement to be the first report, but there was a bigger story. During the New Year holiday that the Vietnamese called Tet, the Vietcong had launched a massive offensive. They had attacked five of the six largest cities, thirty-six provincial capitals, and sixty small towns. The assault had astounded the U.S. military by its size: no one had imagined the guerrillas capable of such a large-scale operation.