"Nerve yourself for the shock, Circe. Think you can stand it?"
"I'll try. Keep your back to the mare."
"Thank you."
I heard her lean over and struck the match on the tire, I raised it cautiously, sheltering it with my hands. Just as I was about to raise my eyes:
"Thank you," she said, very softly, and blew it out.
I laid my hands on her shoulders.
"I won't say 'damn,'" I said. "I'll say 'good-bye' instead, like—like a good boy-scout."
"Say it then."
I said it.
"Oh, but that isn't—"