PRIVATE FIRST CLASS “Oh my gosh, I’m sorry. No matter how often she came across this phase in love stories, there was never anything explanatory: as if all human beings perfectly understood. For a time she worried about that compulsory bath and cutaneous diseases. The features were indistinct, but was that not a halo of white about it? And the dark shadow below, was that a cloak, or the habit of a nun? Skirting the dancing, from which he had taken a breather—not from lack of energy, but to escape the inanities of the young ladies he had partnered—Gerald made his way to a side door in the saloon and opened it. My dear! we’ve had so many moments! I used to go over the times we’d had together, the things we’d said—like a rosary of beads.
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