When the bed was smoothly made he waited until Alice had left the room before he slipped off his trousers and crawled inside.

His feet jutted out from beneath the cover and his wiry-haired chest was very dark against the pillow. He was glad he had not told Alice about what had happened to the drunk. He had wanted to talkto somebody about it, because maybe if he told all the facts out loud he could put his finger on the thing that puzzled him.

The poor son-of-a-bitch talking and talking and not ever getting anybody to understand what he meant. Not knowing himself, most likely. And the way he gravitated around the deaf-mute and picked him out and tried to make him a free present of everything in him.

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