Issue 42, Winter-Spring 1968
“The trouble with me, if you want to know, Mr. Winter doll, do find a match for me. Must I beg, for God’s sake? Thank you. I don’t really look like this. Christ, there I go.Stop it, Maggie. The trouble with me is that I’m not worldly.Find me another drink. I won’t go into that terrible room again. You do it. I know you can. No ice. And don’t tell anyone it’s for me. They won’t give it to you. I like your hands.And please, please give me a light. Hurry!
“It was never an ordinary companionship. And John Winter sometimes felt it wasn’t a companionship so much as an exercise in patience; but at this point he was merely being what he looked: an upright, pink-faced young man who frequently used patience as a weapon against what he did not understand.He was a “member of life,” as she later informed him.