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By Philip Wylie

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There isn't anything I can say to any of you. " John looked up at him. " He turned his head a little more. " I had one of those fugitive selfish wishes--that she would act in such a way as to make Bill depart. Instead, she looked at him for several seconds and answered. " He just shook his head. Ivan arrived before one. He'd got the plane to New Haven and taken a taxi to Reedy Cove. Ivan looks much as John did in his youth. There were differences: his features had a regularity which John's didn't; he was even taller than John; and underlying his appearance of ruggedness, was something of Connie's glamour and dash.

Look at Virginia and Bill. She's facing a dilemma--and what's she doing? " He sighed. "Nope. That's what made me cable Connie not to write. Some important part of her mind must have had a wrong slant on everything. " I felt that his distress had taken possession of his habitual honest judgment. "We're supposed to be modern in our family," I said. "Sophisticated--even a little gaudy. Now we've been hit where we live-and we've found out that we're not quite so worldlywise as we thought. Wife--mother--home--another man--they're more primitive factors than all our fancy polish.

He began to put things back in his bag. His eyes held smiles--but whether they were sad or sardonic, I couldn't tell. He whistled softly as he packed. "Well, John Alden," he said, when he had finished. Doctors make lousy jokes. That was his worst. It wasn't funny and it hurt. He went back to take another look at Virginia, and I continued, as I'd been for weeks, salting the sore of my own helplessness, thinking I should go away, feeling sure that Virginia and Connie also would need me in the months ahead, studying a thousand hypothetical calamities.

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