“It went on the rocks.”
“Who was the man?”
“A Mr. Bushnell,” she said. “A James Bushnell. Mrs. Bushnell’s little boy, Jimmie, you know.”
“Oh, yes,” I said, “Jimmie — good old Jimmie! Well, well, well! And what was wrong with Jimmie?”
“A little bit of everything.”
“How long have you been on your own?”
“A year.”
“Alimony?”
“Go fly a kite.”
“I was just asking.”