Through a recollected haze of alcohol I heard this same tirade from old and distant days. And Hattie was right, in her way. The theory of accession to culture and intelligence, to morality and Godliness, through the restraint of desire by the demeaning of it, had run its course in the Western world and unstrung nearly all of us. And where that thesis did not exist, there were others, still more absurd, to bring other peoples to their repetitive, obnoxious dooms. Quite suddenly, I felt like weeping. She left the window and sat down. "Relax." The feeling passed like a bird's shadow. "What were you doing all evening?" she asked. "How come you're up so late? Work?" I thought of telling her--telling her the truth. Thought of it hard and seriously. "Out with a dame," I said, which was not what I meant by the truth. "A wife. A pretty package of all the quality advertising, from Pasadena, who had caught her hubby in flagrante with a gent--and fled. Protesting too much, if you understand." "Half the girls in the country--if they had the nerve--!" "A latent thing. In maturity, according to the psychologists, it becomes the psychological stuff by which we understand and appreciate our own sex." "And it does, too." "If you say so, it must be right, Hat." "There--you are damned tooting!" She looked at me. "So you took her out--?" "Rumbaing. I've got good at it--since I knew you." "Really good?" "Good enough to please the Cuban girls. So we danced. And I brought her back to the hotel--and turned her loose." "Nice guy!" "I wanted her to exercise her mind. After all--I only met her at lunch--and she's already moved up on my floor, next door." "You should change hotels, then." "Too lazy. Too busy. And I can deal with her. Spoiled--and too bad--because the guy she left sounds okay. I wish I could help her out. Taking--what they call--advantage of her, probably wouldn't. And you can't re-do a person's attitude and background in a few days--especially with a serial to correct. Usually requires years, and a good analyst--" "Another wife--to be hated." "By you?" Hattie nodded. "I hate thousands of them. Some, I adore." We didn't seem to find anything to say for a minute. I could have given her one more name for the short side of the ledger but I didn't want to. Finally I said, "If you get any ideas about Marcia--?" "Call me up--when you've met her. Better still--come by again." "I will." I had no idea whether I would or not. She got up. "Look. Do me a favor and autograph a couple of your books for me, will you? And have another cup of coffee while I go downstairs and get them?" "All right."