"Do you mind telling me what actually happened to you?"
He said:
"I don't know that I can very well. . . . Something burst—or 'exploded' is probably the right word—near me, in the dark. I expect you'd rather not hear about it? . . ."
"I want to!" Sylvia said.
He said:
"The point about it is that I don't know what happened and I don't remember what I did. There are three weeks of my life dead. . . . What I remember is being in a C.C.S. and not being able to remember my own name."
"You mean that?" Sylvia asked. "It's not just a way of talking?"
"No, it's not just a way of talking," Tietjens answered. "I lay in bed in the C.C.S. . . . Your friends were dropping bombs on it."
"You might not call them my friends," Sylvia said.
Tietjens said: