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“Arbuthnot!” cried Constance in a burst of intuition

A shadow crossed her face She reached for a bathrobe and clothed herself, suddenly very s the coast, as if it were not sand and tide, but the years themselves

“Arbuthnot,” she murmured “Christ, what a beauty! What a creator” She paused “I’lad he’s dead,” she added

“Not quite,” I stopped

For Constance had whirled, as if shot

“No!” she cried

“No, a thing like hi propped up on a wall to scare me, and now, you!”

Tears of relief burst froasped as if struck in the stomach

“Damn you! Go inside,” she said “Get the vodka”

I brought the vodka and a glass I watched her throw back two slugs I was suddenly sober forever, tired of seeing people drink, tired of being afraid when night came

I could think of nothing to say so I went to the edge of her pool, took off my shoes and socks, rolled updoaiting

At last Constance came and sat beside me

“You’re back,” I said

“Sorry,” she said “Old memories die hard”

“They sure as hell do,” I said, looking along the coastline now myself “At the studio this week, panic attacks Why would everyone fly apart at a wax dummy in the rain that looked like Arbuthnot?”