-- You were wrong about the dish.

-- We want not the shadow of a doubt. We want to be absolutely certain.

-- And philosophy. Furthermore.

-- Oh, I dont blame him.

-- Nothing is yours.

-- Cold here in the garden.

-- She did things with her eyebrows. Painted them gold. You had the gray eyes with a touch of violet, and the gold eyebrows. Yes, the doors must be mine. I seem to remember her bursting through them. In one of the several rages of a summers day.

-- I dont like it when they let girls talk on the radio.

-- Cant remember how it goes.

-- Youve never heard a cri de coeur?

-- No no no no. Come come come.

-- It has your name on the back. Engraved on the back.

-- Whatd you get?

-- They swing in either direction. Spring hinges. Wood slats.

-- Listening to the radio. "Elmers Tune."

-- God, arent these flowers beautiful!

-- Wholeheartedly.

-- The struggle is admirable. Useless, but admirable. Your struggle.

-- Thats true. Whats the time?

-- No. Nor was she given to the cri de coeur. Except, perhaps, once. Death of her flying fish. A cry wrenched from her bosom. Rather like a winged phallus it was, she kept it in a washtub in the basement. One day it was discovered belly-up. She screamed. Then, insisted it be given the Last Rites, buried in a fish cemetery, holy water sprinkled this way and that --

-- Of course. I have their trust.

-- A great consolation.

-- I think its mine.

-- The flowers are beautiful.

-- Well we still havent decided what color, to paint the trucks.

-- Well, you cant have everything.

-- Yes. They seem to be. I mean, Im not arguing with you. On the other hand, theyre not something I want to remember, particularly. They have sort of an unpleasant aura around them, for some reason. I would have avoided them, left to myself.

-- If you were a Japanese master you woul九_九_藏_書dnt snap. Those guys never snapped. Some of them were ninety.

-- Consoling to have the flowers.

-- You mean to say that you think that I would own a bonbon dish? A sterling-silver or whatever it is bonbon dish? Youre mad.

-- Of course not. Never occurred to me. The shoe has something of the pathetic about it. A wronged quality. Do you think it possible that the shoe may be in some way a cri de coeur?

-- You want to sing that song.

-- Yes, okay, what do I care?

-- They spend a lot of time worrying about where to park their cars. Glad I dont have one.

-- Please.

-- I think not.

-- No no no no no. Not so. Sourballs, perhaps.

-- I dont want to distress you. Unnecessarily.

-- They have books about it. I read one.

-- I said blue.

-- The shoe is definitely not mine.

-- But the doors are here. Theyre yours.

-- Maybe.

-- Well, I have to muck out the stable and buff up the silver.

-- You were complaining about the sun.

-- Yes. How about blue?

-- It must have been some time ago. Some years. I dont know what theyre doing here. It strikes me they were in another house. Not this house. I mean its kind of cloudy.

-- I appreciate it. She had gray eyes. Gray with a touch of violet.

-- There is a difference in texture. . .

-- Forgot to buy soap, forgot to buy coffee --

-- Can you fine-tune that for me?

-- Getting farther and farther away from life.

-- Maybe.

-- And Social Security.

-- Are you sure it wasnt saccharin?

-- I liked H. V. Kaltenborn. Hes long gone.

-- Yes. I think so. Are they on spring hinges? Do they swing?

-- That was a point of fact, it was, in fact, a dish.

-- And these Japanese rocks --

-- Sometimes we hugged. Lengthily. Heart to heart, the one trying to pull the other into the upright other. . .

-- Ive never heard a cri de coeur.

-- I have some swatches. If youd care to take aｒeaｄ.９9csw.cｏｍ gander.

-- A perfectly possible answer. People use it every day.

-- Who was Shirley?

-- Twelve-fifty.

-- But theyre here.

-- Nevertheless I withdraw it. Its inadmissible. It was coerced.

-- I am entitled to a good, solid, answer. Is the dressing gown yours?

-- Looks to be about one.

-- All that business about "dish" rather than "plate" --

-- Perhaps once. When Shirley was with us?

-- A bonbon dish?

-- I know, I know, I know. Im not blaming you, but it just seems to me that you could have let it go. The doors. Im sure you didnt mean anything by it, but still --

-- Did for a while. Then stopped.

-- She made a lot of money. Opened a Palais de Glace, or skating rink. Read R. D. Laing to the skaters over the PA system meanwhile supplementing her income by lecturing over the country as a spokesperson for the unborn.

-- The kid ever come to see you?

-- Lets go on to the plate, then.

-- The shoe is in no sense a thing of mine. Although found I admit among my things.

-- Only three of them. But each remarkable, of its kind.

-- Well, you cant have everything.

-- Well, you cant have everything.

-- Yes.

-- Certainly. "Young person" is an elastic term. You think Im going to mess with jailbait?

-- Promotion, advancement. . .

-- Not a chance.

-- Guilty but less guilty than I should.

-- Just one more thing: The two mattresses surrounding the single slice of salami. Are they yours?

-- In the beginning, you dont know.

-- Well, youre driving me crazy.

-- You enjoy their trust.

-- Cold, here in the garden.

-- They trust you with the silver?

-- We dont operate that way. That has nothing to do with it. I dont want to discuss this any further. Lets go on to the dressing gown. Is the dressing gown yours?

-- Mine. Yes.

-- I just remembered, I put sugar in my coffee. At breakfread.99csw.comast.

-- You feel coerced?

-- Whatd you do yesterday?

-- Where theres a will theres a way. Thats what my mother always said.

-- Thats true.

-- Its here. An old-fashioned shoe. Eleven buttons.

-- I havent agreed to that. Did I agree to that?

-- You have a hectoring tone. I dont like to be hectored. You came here with something in mind. You had made an a priori decision.

-- Its a womans shoe. Its too small for me. My foot, this foot here, would never in the world fit into that shoe.

-- My business. Leave it at "maybe."

-- Im delighted to hear it. Not that you have a condition but that the sack is, without doubt, yours.

-- Did she perhaps wear shoes of this type?

-- With what in mind?

-- How do you feel about that?

-- What are they?

-- Not yet I want to think about it.

-- We still havent decided what color to paint the trucks.

-- Plate, dish, I dont care, its something of an imposition, you must admit, to have to think about it. Normally I wouldnt think about it.

-- I read a book. Just the other day.

-- Plate.

-- Wholeheartedly, then.

-- You admitted the doors.

-- Sexuality, too.

-- New skin. Youre going to complain?

-- White powder of some kind. . .

-- The doors were yours. Why not the dish?

-- This place is cold, no getting around it.

-- What do you mean, think? You stated. . . Is it yours or isnt it?

-- I wonder if its true.

-- Yes. Now, are these your doors?

-- Your name. Right there. And the date, 1962.

-- Indeed.

-- Yes or no?

-- I dont want to look. Ill take your word for it. That was twenty years ago. My God. She read R. D. Laing. Aloud, at dinner. Every night. Interrupted only by the telephone. When she answered the telephone, her voice became animated. Charming and animated. Gaiety. Vivacity. Laughter. In contrast to her reading of R. D. Laing. Which could only be deschttps://read.99csw.comribed as punitive. O.K., so its mine. My plate.

-- When?

-- Lets move on to the shoe, now. I dont have that much time.

-- Thank the Lord for all small favors.

-- Where? Show me.

-- The gold eyebrows, still?

-- Havent eaten anything except some rice, this morning. Cooked it with chicken broth.

-- You fatigue me. Now, about the hundred-pound sack of saccharin.

-- Thats a little ridiculous when you consider that I have, personally, nothing to gain. Either way. Whichever way it goes.

-- Doesnt that make you nervous? Girls talking on the radio?

-- All right. The hollowed-out book containing the single Swedish municipal bond in the amount of fifty thousand Swedish crowns is not yours. Weve established that. Lets go on.

-- Well youre driving me crazy too. Know what I mean?

-- Unacceptable. What happened to her?

-- Cold, here in the garden.

-- Not now. This sun is blistering.

-- The maid. She was studying eschatology. Maiding parttime. She left us for a better post. Perfectly ordinary departure.

-- I have it right here. Written down. "Yes, they must be mine."

-- Maybe maybe maybe maybe.

-- She sometimes threw something through the doorway before bursting through the doorway herself. Acid, on one occasion.

-- It was never mine. Or it might have been mine, once. Perhaps it belonged to my former wife. I said I wasnt sure. She was fond of hiding things in hollowed-out books.

-- Surely not your last word on the subject.

-- Within the limits of the law, of course.

-- Hocked it.

-- No, I must say you resisted. Admirably, resisted.

-- You said, I have it right here, written down, "Yes, they must be mine."

-- You must admit, a great consolation.

-- I did resist. Would you allow "valiantly"?

-- I think its mine. It seems to be.

-- But when it goes behind a cloud --

-- Lazing in thehttps://read.99csw.com garden. This is really most luxurious.

-- I withdraw that.

-- You cant really say too much. These days.

-- Not wholeheartedly.

-- Absolutely.

-- I cant tell you how pleased I am. The inquiry moves. Progress is made. Results are obtained.

-- Mine. Indubitably mine. Im forbidden to use sugar. I have a condition.

-- You exhaust me. In this context, the word "maybe" is unacceptable.

-- Half-way consoled already.

-- Never used to have them. Now theyre everywhere.

-- Its a dish. A bonbon dish.

-- "Wholeheartedly"?

-- Some kind of Japanese dealies I dont know.

-- I get hungry. In the night.

-- No, I remember, it was definitely sugar. Granulated. So the sack of saccharin is definitely not mine.

-- Seems!

-- I am not suggesting that the shoe is yours in the sense that you wear or would wear such a shoe. Its obviously a womans shoe.

-- How does that make you feel?

-- You cant withdraw it. Ive written it down.

-- Took a walk. In the wild trees.

-- Youre too old, thats all it is, think nothing of it. Dont give it a thought.

-- Caw caw caw caw.

-- Not yours.

-- Some things are mine, but the sack is not mine, the shoe is not mine, the bonbon dish is not mine, and the doors are not mine.

-- Wheres your watch?

-- Perhaps she craved bonbons?

-- Well to the woods no more. I assume.

-- Artfully placed, most artfully.

-- What are you writing there, in your notes?

-- The gold eyebrows and the gray-with-violet eyes. On television, very often.

-- There was a vogue for that kind of shoe, some time back, among the young people. It might have belonged to a young person. I sometimes saw young persons.

-- I didnt mean anything by it. Well, lets leave the doors, then, and go on to the dish.

-- That the sack is, beyond a doubt, yours.

-- I fondled them, if they were fondleable.

-- Going to snap one of these days.