"Oh, yes," Edie said, nodding. "It was very satisfying." Her face was open and cheerful; her eyebrows curved; her cheeks curved; her mouth curved widely around and up at the corners. Beneath the curves she had a strong head. "So, Morgan . . . Waikiki, Diamond Head . . . " Joe stretched out his arm. "Yes," Morgan said in his most approving manner. "What do you do here?" Edie asked Mo. "I have a small photography business." "How wonderful," Edie said. "I am talent-less." One corner of Morgan's mouth twitched. Mo sipped her Lillet. "Me too," Joe said. "I paid twenty-five cents for biology drawings in high school. My worms looked like accordions." "I understand you are a builder and a writer," Mo said, turning to Morgan. "I suppose so," he said. "Damned good one," Joe said. "What is your book about?" "Houses of the Hudson Valley." Mo smiled broadly. That's Morgan, Joe thought. He states the title of his book, a simple fact, and manages to imply that the universe is a lunatic misunderstanding, that we are all waiting at the wrong bus stop. "Have you been working on it long?" Mo asked. "Nine years." "I could eat a mahi-mahi," Edie said. They ended up at the restaurant, John Dominis, at a table with too many glasses, sea bass, snapper, and mahi-mahi, salads, desserts . . . No one wanted to stop. Morgan told a long story that began with a knock on his door one winter afternoon. A Jehovah's Witness had wandered up the mountain to proselytize. Morgan was so glad to see someone that he invited him in and had a conversation about the Bible. "Given their assumptions," Morgan said, "I thought I might discuss their conclusions." The following week the witness returned with help. Pots of tea, hours later, the witness and his help left, baffled, promising to return with an elder. By spring, much of the church's energy was directed at rebutting the doctrinal challenge from the mountains. Morgan was invited to headquarters where an informal truce was reached. "They are an efficient organization in many ways," Morgan said grandly. "Poor bastards," Joe said. "Morgan is difficult in debate, Mo. He got out of the draft by writing so many complicated letters questioning selective service procedures that they finally figured it would be easier to classify him, 1Y." "A successful campaign," Morgan said. "Better than mine," Joe said. "Could have been worse," Morgan reminded him.