Untitled ( novella appropriated from the novels in my personal collection)

I heard queer tales in the hotel. This was even more conspiratorial than I had expected. I was sick to death of double dates and blind dates. I couldn't blame her for being angry and upset. I gazed listlessly at the scenery outside and thought about myself-who I was. If only I'd been able to pin down what that was, I know we would have ended up sleeping together. As I pad around the first floor in my socks I can hear the muted monologue of the cryent in the basement, a sad song with the volume turned down. I damn well felt like doing, with the certain knowledge that I could always flee the consequences. I wanted to write all my friends and invite them down. I hadn't felt that way in a long time. One morning I was awakened by what sounded like children being butchered outside the window. The voyager bit his lip and said nothing. For a while there was a regular pandemonium, the women all hysterical and hungry to seize the opportunity to pay off private grudges. For some time now I have been remembering my dreams much too often. A little more and I would have fallen into the mirror trap. I am not just terribly depressed at leaving her; I am terribly frightened of going back to my solitude. It did me a lot of good to do as I was told and to have someone sitting by me who asked me things and ordered me about and scolded me. And so, pulling myself together, I entered the house. They were still going on about the schoolgirl murder. I was honestly afraid I was losing my mind. Mona comes out of the kitchen with Oyster, but without her bathrobe.