"Later?"
"It comes with time. Go ahead."
"When I had all but burned out my main bearings, I phoned her. Maybe you won't believe it—but Marcia was going to phone me that evening. We talked it over. She moved to my flat and got a job."
"So?"
"We might get married."
"She want to?"
"She refuses—now. I'm not always certain I want to, myself." He stuck his forefinger into his shoe and tugged at the counter. "And I don't know why. Why I want to marry her. Why I'm uncertain."
"How do your—?" I broke that off.
But he got it. "My friends think she's swell. You gathered she was good-looking. She's a tall, slender gal with light-brown hair and blue eyes. Quiet. You'd never think—! But I went into that, didn't I? She attended college, in Iowa, for a year—and she likes to read. By that I mean—"