"I gave him some lessons in quantum theory, myself," Paul continued. "Rotten student. Wants to know the final formulation and what it means--and detests to brush up his calculus first. He can do magic tricks, too--earned his high school pin money that way. He used to spin ropes--jump through 'em. When I was a very small kid, I looked forward to seeing him. Like a one-man circus. Then I caught on--at about four years old. Uncle Phil was in kindergarten in about every subject there was. Never got any farther. Just took different primary courses every year." "In a minute," I said, "I'll leave you guys to your libel and go back to my serial. Somebody taught me how to write fiction, along there someplace--" Paul grinned and said, "_Touché_--a little." I felt better than I had all weekend. Paul surely would calm down with Yvonne. And she wasn't going to loiter with Gwen that evening. It left me with nothing to worry about except a no longer very sore spot in my throat--and with no emotion to grapple--except a feeling of being lonelier than God. I went back to my room and turned the lights on bright and sat down and looked at the roses Dave had sent. They were my flowers-for-the-living and, being alive, they should be appreciated. There they stood--with lighter green stems and leaves than most roses and perilous, pale-green thorns. The blooms weren't quite full blown, in spite of the heat, and they were as large as any I'd ever seen--as long as my fingers. The many lamps in the room highlighted the curved outer edges of the flowers and left only the deep, inner shadows. The petals were as voluptuous as a woman's skin; they seemed to glow, like an aniline dye in ultraviolet rays. A slightly sharp perfume filled the room--a mnemonic of things that could not be materialized, of tea roses in childhood gardens and people who had been nice to you and died a long time ago. There they stood--stiff and radiant and hopelessly beautiful. I let myself feel them--feel them the way you let yourself feel when the concert hall goes dark and the baton makes its first, swift oval. They came from hothouses. I thought of gardens. All the gardens I had made or cared about.