"But—"
It was a clear night, and I went to the window. How it shone, in that clear air. Jean came over to stand next to me.
I pointed, and said, "There's my home."
"Venus," she said. "Fred, for heaven's sake—I'm serious!"
"Some day," I said, "this planet will learn how to see through our manufactured fog. Some day they will develop the vision we developed a century ago. And—"
"Damn it, Fred, be serious. If you'd know what I've gone through, alone here, thinking back on all the crazy things you've said and done. What have you told me about yourself, what do I know?"
"Nothing," I said. "And what have I asked you about yourself? It's a matter of faith, Jean."
"Faith? Running all over the country like fugitives, financed by those damned diamonds, nosing into this and into that, and then running off to Russia, all alone. With what you'd learned, Fred?"
I shook my head, resentment stirring in me.
"Remember when we met? In Santa Monica—right there, next to the beach. You didn't have a thing but the clothes on your back and a bagful of diamonds. Was it a sub that brought you that far, Fred?"