"Pin none of your flowers on me, cooky. It was a dangerous
prescription. I tried to weasel out of the charge that I'd compounded
it. But I did. Mr. Wylie's toxic monologue."
"Mr. Wylie's elixir for the self-righteous."
"America," I said, "is the wrong climate for taking a capsule of that
so-called sin and expecting a cure. In some other country--or age--"
"Don't orate today. I couldn't listen." She ate a shrimp. "I wish I
knew more about you."
"Me, too." I went on, "Be good to Rol. Remember--these high tides run
out. And remember--they always come in again."
"You going?" She said it almost without interest. She didn't need
company any more.
I nodded. "The last installment is passing through the chopper. Here's
another item, cooky. People who live in greenhouses mustn't cast the
first stone."
For a moment, her gaze faltered.
I watched delicate changes of her color; she had beautiful skin. I
watched the old stain reappear in her eyes. Her chin thrust out a
little and shook a little and was firm. Her eyes turned amethyst again.
"I'll remember," she said.