Зима тревоги нашей

           IttakesquiteafewdocumentstogetaSullivanActpermit—almostasmanyastogetapassport.

           Mybosshadants.Maybetoomanysmallthingshadhappenedtooclosetogether.

           TheelderlyMissElgar,theprincessroyalofNewBaytown,cameinclose-hauled,withasetjib.BetweenMissElgarandtheworldweretwoplatesofsafetyglass,aspacebetween.Shenegotiatedforadozeneggs.Havingknownmeasalittleboy,sheneverthoughtofmeasanythingelse.IcouldseethatshewasamazedandpleasedthatIcouldmakechange.

           "Ithankyou,Ethan,"shesaid.Hereyesslidoverthecoffee-grinderandoverMarulloandgaveequalattentiontoeach."How’syourfather,Ethan?"

           "Fine,MissElgar,"Isaid.

           "Givehimmygreetings,that’sagoodboy."

           "Yes,ma’am.Isurelywill,ma’am."Iwasn’tabouttoreregulatehertimesense.TheysayshestillwindsthegrandfatherclockeverySundaynightandithasbeenelectrifiedforyears.Itwouldn’tbebadtobethatway,suspendedintime—notbadatall,anendlessafternoonofnow.Shenoddedgravelytothecoffee-grinderbeforesheleft.

           "Crazyinthehead,"Marullosaidandscrewedhisforefingerintohistemple.

           "Nobodychanges.Nobodygetshurt."

           "Yourfatherisdead.Whydon’tyoutellherhe’sdead?"

           "Ifshe’dbelievedme,she’dforgetit.Shealwaysasksafterhim.It’snotsolongagoshestoppedinquiringaftermygrandfather.Shewashisfriend,theysay,theoldgoat."

           "Crazyinthehead,"Marulloobserved.