I takes another slug of that Martian wiggle-water myself, then I squints at the professor over my glass.
"I guess maybe you been hittin' the bottle yourself lately, huh Doc?"
"What? Oh, you don't believe me, do you, Benny?"
"Well, it ain't that exactly, but ya gotta admit—"
He gets excited again. "Here, I'll show you." He goes to a drawer, takes somethin' soft and shiny out, and comes back, wavin' them under my nose. My nose doesn't object.
"I have proof. Take a look at these."
They was Helen LaTour's size, all right. I gotta admit that, okay. And they was pretty. Especially when I starts thinkin' of what filled 'em.
"She left them behind when she went through that space warp. It's all there is left of her."
"Hmmm. Say, doc, y'sure these ain't some other dame's? Maybe yer wife's—?"
"I assure you, I have never been married." He looks wistful-like. "Since meeting Miss LaTour, I grant you I have toyed with the speculation of what marital bliss might have been like with someone of the caliber of—"