"I'm making allowances. But can't you tell me something about myself?"
He thought—and couldn't. He wasn't doing so well. "Another lapse," he said gloomily and then brightened. "But I can tell you lots about myself. For instance, I'm a specialist in lepidoptera."
"What's that?"
"At the moment, who knows? Anyway, I'm a well-known actor and a musician and a first-rate mathematician. I can't remember any equations offhand except C equals pi R squared. It has to do with the velocity of light. And the rest of the stuff will come back in time." It was easier now that he'd started and he went on rapidly. "I'm thirty-three and after making a lot of money wrestling, married six girls, not necessarily in this order—Lucille, Louise, Carolyn, Katherine, Shirley and Miriam." That was quite a few marriages—maybe it was thoughtless of him to have mentioned them. No woman approves her predecessors.
"That's six. Where do I come in?"
"Erica. You're the seventh and best." It was just too many, now that he thought of it, and it didn't seem right.
She sighed and drew away. "That was a lucky guess on your age."
Did that mean he wasn't right on anything else? From the expression on her face, it did. "You've got to expect me to be confused in the beginning. Can't you really tell who I am?"
"I can't! You don't have the same personality at all." She glanced at her arm. There was a bruise on it.