Grayson Amery, the iron-haired publisher, greeted Malloy with a firm, warm, dry handshake.
"Michael, it's certainly good to see you again. You are looking well."
"Yes, the bruises left by the strait jacket straps don't show," said Malloy.
"A unique miscarriage of justice," Amery said.
"I certainly hope it's unique. I hope there aren't any more poor devils like me locked away."
Amery offered Malloy a chair with a broad, well-manicured hand. "I'm confident that there aren't. And you are out now, fortunately."
"You can call it fortune if you like," Malloy said uneasily.
"But you are glad to be out?"
Malloy hesitated. "I'm resigned to it. The flow of time washed some of the salt out of the wound. Being born is definitely a traumatic experience."
"How well I remember!" Amery said.