She took off her mitten and bit the back of her thumb. He had discovered it to be a characteristic gesture, used when she was tense. “Well, what do you think?”

He removed her hand from her mouth. “What do I think about what?”

“I told the landlady I’d let her know by 10 o’clock about renting it.”

“It’s a cellar.”

“A basement.”

“Even the floor is dirty.”

“I’ll scrub it and wax it until it gleams.”

“Gaby, are you serious? It’s not as nice as your place in Cambridge. Not nearly.”

“In addition to this bedroom-living room combination there’s a bathroom and a kitchenette. Take a look.”

“You can’t tell me Susan Haskell is going to like this better than the other place.”

“Susan Haskell isn’t going to live here.”

He thought about that for a moment. “She isn’t?”

“We are. You and I.”

They stood and looked at one another. “It’s seventy-five dollars a month. I think it’s a bargain, Adam,” she said.

“Oh, that is,” he said. “It really is.”

He put his arms around her.

“Gaby, are you sure this is what you want?”

“I’m positive. Unless you don’t want it.”

“I’ll paint the walls,” he said in a little while.

“They’re ugly, but it’s a fantastic location. The elevated station is only a couple of blocks away,” she said. “So is the Charles Street Jail. And the landlady told me that in just three minutes you can walk from here to the apartment on Bowdoin Street where Jack Kennedy used to live.”

He kissed her cheek and found it was wet. “That will be convenient,” he said.

He had very little to pack. He took his things out of the bureau and put them in the B-4 bag. There were a few garments on hangers in the closet and some books that he placed in a brown paper bag, and the job was done. The room looked just as it had the night he moved into it. He was leaving nothing of himself behind in the little cell.

Spurgeon was on duty in the ward and so there was nobody on the sixth floor to say goodbye to.

They drove to the place in Cambridge and Susan Haskell helped Gaby to pack her things while he emptied two bookcases into cardboard cartons.

Susan was very upset but she treated Adam with icy care.

“The plastic bucket is mine,” Gaby said guiltily. “I bought a bunch of supplies and things but I forgot to get a bucket. Is it all right if I take it?”

“Of course. Take whatever you paid for, silly.”

“We’ll have lunch in a couple of days,” Gaby said. “I’ll call you.”

They were both quiet as they drove over the Harvard Bridge and then followed the river on the Boston side of the Charles. The sky was ashen and their mood had withered but when they got to Phillips Street the physical activity of unloading the car broke the spell.