"She says they'll name her Ned to teach Bacon a lesson." We chuckled and rehashed the weekend and the glow lasted all the way to the George Washington bridge. There The Rock loomed up before us like a vast purple volcano, lights flaring over it sulphurously, the sky above reflecting the burning craters below. Robin began to cry. "What's the matter, Robin?" "Somehow I can't help feeling sorry for them." As we drove across the chasm of the river back to the private chasms of our lives, we both knew she was lying. The weak never weep for the strong; they weep only for themselves. * * * * * [Transcriber's Note: Inconsistent hyphens left as printed.]