Yet it was May before Franz found an opportunity to insert the first wedge. Dick came into his office whit and tired one noon and sat down, saying:
"Well, she's gone."
"She's dead?"
"The heart quit."
Dick sat exhausted in the chair nearest the door.During three nights he had remained with the scabbed anonymous woman-artist he had come to love,formally to portion out the adrenaline, but really to throw as much wan light as he could into the darkness ahead.