They slow danced to a Bon Jovi ballad. "I'm sure little Jack has but one friend beside myself, in the world, and that's more than I would have ventured to say for him yesterday. “More coffee, hon?” She held her hand over the cup. She turned her eyes to him again, and saw her late friend and pleasant and trusted companion, who had seen fit suddenly to change into a lover, babbling interesting inacceptable things. But I've stacks of books and a grand piano-player. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. "—An answer for which he was immediately reprimanded by the court. Books were always sliding and slipping, clumsy objects to hold. It is the immediate inspiration of confidence; it alleviates pain, because we know by that smile that pain is soon to leave us; it becomes the bulwark against our depressive thoughts of death; and it is the promise that we still have a long way to go before we reach the Great Terminal.
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