"We're separated."
"How long?"
"A year."
"How long were you married?"
"Eight months."
"To him! Married to that—"
"Thank God it wasn't to you."
"Thank Roy, dear. He's our local god."
Gabby suddenly clutched his arm and dragged him to a stop before a sidewalk pitchman demonstrating a silver-plating fluid. The pitchman lost his audience.
"You listen to me," Gabby said,