“N-not now.” Florence slid from her stool. “Perhaps some other time.”
“O. K. Fine! I’m greatly interested.”
“So—so am I.” These words slipped unbidden from her lips.
“Here’s my card.” He thrust a square of pasteboard in her hand.
“Thanks for the pie!” They were at the door.
“Oh, that’s more than all right. Remember—” his hand was on her arm for an instant. “Don’t forget, if you need me to interpret a dream, or for—for—”
“Another piece of pie,” she laughed.
“Sure! Just anything,” he laughed back, “just give me a ring.”
“By the way!” Florence said with sudden impulse, “there is something. Can you help people recall, make them think back, back into their past until they at last remember something that may be of great help to them?”
“I’ve done it at times quite successfully.”