Gathering up his ball of taffy, which by now is growing quite cumbersome, Pirate passes Beaverboard Row, as it is known: comprising the offices of all the Committees, with the name of each stenciled above the doorway—A4… IG … OIL FIRMS … LOBOTOMY … SELF-DEFENSE … HERESY …

“Naturally you’re seeing this all through a soldier’s eyes,” she’s very young, insouciant, wearing a silly small young-woman’s hat of the period, her face clean and steady enough for the broad-shouldered, high-waisted, no-neck profile they’re all affecting these days. She moves along beside him taking long and graceful steps, swings her arms, tosses her head—reaches over to grab some of his taffy, and touching his hand as she does so.

“For you it’s all a garden,” he suggests.

“Yes. Perhaps you’re not such a stick after all.”

Ah, they do bother him, these free women in their teens, their spirits are so contagious,

Where did the swing band come from?

She’s bouncing up and down, she wants to be jitterbugged, he sees she wants to lose her gravity—

I’ll tell you it’s just—out,—ray,—juss,

Spirit is so—con,—tay,—juss,

Nobody knows their a-ges…

Walkin’ through bees of hon—ney,

Throwin’ away—that—mon,—ney,

Laughin’ at things so—fun—ny,

Spirit’s comin’ through—to,—you!

Nev—ver,—mind, whatcha hear from your car,

Take a lookit just—how—keen—they are,

Nev—ver,—mind,—what, your calendar say,

Ev’rybody’s nine months old today! Hey,

Pages are turnin’ pages,

Nobody’s in—their,—ca,—ges,

Spirit’s just so—con,—ta,—gious—

Just let the Spirit—move,—for,—you!