One day Monica received a letter from Harold and opened it swiftly, carelessly. She found no threats—no accusations—no sly troubling innuendos—only a dozen or so neatly typed lines inquiring after Monica’s health and general well-being and supplying Monica with news of Harold’s health and general well-being. And his professional “prospects.” The letter was so perfunctory, so totally lacking in voice, Monica could not understand why it had been written. To assert that Harold still existed? To prick her into feeling jealousy? It seemed incredible that this was the person who had hired a private detective to investigate her only a few months ago. . . . By the graying opalescent light of mid-February that seemed wholly unlikely; but, by that light, nothing seemed likely.

Just let it go, Monica thought.

It happened that Monica, Miss Jensen, became a confidante of sorts for several boys (Mitchell, Alan, Jeremy, occasionally Sean) who were mysteriously unhappy because of problems at home. (“Ah, ‘problems at home!’” Jill Starkie exclaimed with a sigh. “There are always, always ‘problems at home.’”) She was required to listen attentively and sympathetically; to proffer advice, in a judicious manner; to avoid cruel generalizations (“Adolescence is invariably a difficult time”) since her students were individuals, defiantly and helplessly individuals, and rather proud of their plight. From time to time a boy actually wept in the privacy of Monica’s office but she resisted the almost kinetic urge to touch, let alone embrace, fold in her arms, for that was not to be done, that would be folly indeed. Hadn’t coarse-minded Sheila Trask suggested, a long time ago, that Monica’s students might harbor erotic fantasies of her? And how much more ignoble, if Monica, deranged by loneliness, were to begin to harbor fantasies of them. . . .

The subject of survivalism was never again mentioned by Keith Renwick; nor did Monica wish to bring it up.

Nor did they speak at any length about their past histories. Surely Keith was curious about Monica’s failed marriage but his manner was circumspect and tactful. He was too carefully trained in the law to wish to pose questions of a personal nature outright.

It was understood generally that each had been disappointed in love, each was more or less unhappy, if not mildly depressed, at the present time. Otherwise—what had they in common?