At last I parked and turned the engine off. In the lavatory there was a shiny brass tap-37-of cold water and a hunk of soap. Then he talked about the art of life and said American women didn't understand the art of life; at least women like Queenie didn't. I walked overwith Kyra, she holding my hand and swinging it possessively back andforth.
Irolled over and swam back out beyond her range, gasping for breath,trying to keep my head up in spite of the growing ache in the back of my neck. Have youstarted writing again? No. I wondered what thereaction would be if I said that was okay, I hadn't written anythingmore riveting than a grocery list since Jo died, and maybe this wouldstir me up a little. cable came that He was dead I walkedthrough the streets ful of fiveoclock Madrid seething with twilight in shivered cubes of aguardiente redwine gaslamp-green sunsetpink tileochre eyes lips red cheek
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