“See any beggars riding, these days?”
“If wishes were horses?” Lenore shook her head. “You know what I’m thinking about.”
“Guess I usually do, Lenore.”
“I guess you do. It’s Kit—of course. Partly.”
“And partly you?” Her head shook, and the small motion seemed to diffuse in the night an additional quantity of the perfume she wore. It came from her hair, he thought, her midnight, wavy hair. “Not me, exactly,” she said in a speculative tone, and added defensively, “Kit’s a lot of fun.”
“Why not? He’s never had experience in much else.”
“He has so! He was a star in lots of sports—”
“That isn’t fun?”
“I mean, he does plenty of difficult things. Climbs mountains. Flies. He was a war pilot.
He has a pound of medals.”