(This is one of the marvels of Nature.)
Jay brought a menu.
"Terrible, about your nephew," he said.
"It's all right, now. He'll pull out of it."
"That kind of thinking, I guess, is more than men can stand."
"It's the thinking they don't do that they can't stand."
Jay smiled a little. "Then they aren't any different from the rest of us."
"They aren't. Only—they don't know it." Jay glanced down at the menu. "Sole," I said, "and parsley potatoes Tartar sauce and a baked apple."
My mind flared and guttered over the anticlimaxes of the day. Soon, it commenced to take its ribald revenge.
I sent a message to the neurologists: