O compassionate moon! ” Peter grinned: “Don’t make enjoyable of my nice poem. ” Garabed became an olive-skinned, dark-eyed face at the different. “I’m now not making enjoyable of it. i feel it’s solid. I’m quoting it. you recognize i've got the one present reproduction in my ownership. ” He smiled, lifting the bottle to drink. “‘Supreme truth’ . . . a poem in 4 components, by means of Peter Martin. It’s strong, Pierre. An ardent lyrical outburst. I cherish it. ” Peter comprehensive his coke and set it at the steps. “It’s now not solid poetry, definitely. It’s a insurrection of loose verse. an excessive amount of Whitman in it. ” “That’s alright—you’re a prose author. I’m the verse author in this road. ” “Dubious differences for North highway. ” “I spent the complete afternoon,” stated Garabed, “in the library interpreting the Encyclopedia Americana. God, what a role it'd be to learn the whole lot! I spent hours interpreting approximately Birmingham, Alabama, on my own. metal production. Cotton . . . ” “What’s the belief? ” “I don’t recognize. I had not anything to do. I went to a exhibit at 5 o’clock, a type of God-awful Republic photographs. I don’t comprehend why I did that both. popping out, I met George Breton. He says to not omit Saturday afternoon . . . baseball or whatever. I don’t comprehend, I’m in a wierd listless temper this day. What did you do? ” “I needed to write these letters I informed you approximately, to the folk at Boston collage. ” Garabed took the rose out of his hair and stood up, smiling deeply. “Let’s opt for a walk,” he acknowledged. Peter threw the empty bottles at the hammock they usually all started down the road. “How’s your father? ” grinned Garabed. “Same as ever, mattress. A Coughlinite at center. a part of his considering is logical, i guess . . . ” “For example? ” “That half a sixty-year-old New England assurance salesman of commodious ability must have . . . against this with that half clean childrens such as you and that i would not have. ” “What’s flawed with our pondering? ” laughed Garabed defensively, flourishing the rose. “On the total, it’s solid. yet we haven’t lived. we've got merely concept . . . ” “Pete, for God’s sake, the place did you choose that up? You sound like my very own father! ” “I don’t know—I’ve been pondering. I hate to be a clean highbrow who scorns his elders. There’s anything . . . oddly inorganic approximately it, or whatever. ” “Inorganic? ” screamed Garabed. “Well, besides, what may still we do this night? ” “I’m disappointed tonight,” stated Garabed. “I don’t care what I do . . . ” “What disappointed you: Birmingham, Alabama? ” Garabed screamed back: “No! Claire’s letter brought on my disillusionment. Birmingham, Alabama used to be a response. ” “What’s Claire acquired to assert? ” “In my final letter I advised her she resembled a beautiful brown swallow. She answered I had stolen the word from Swinburne’s ‘Itylus’ . . . ” “Come to the purpose. What harm you? ” Garabed raised his chin and seemed down: “I am now not damage. ” “You are too. Is she sore approximately something? That evening in Boston, for example, whilst I bought you under the influence of alcohol? ” “God, no, she’s forgotten all approximately that—anyway, she by no means did brain. No, she’s peeved simply because I didn’t visit see her final week. to inform you the reality, I don’t care.