y. For t too cunning to be a lover of t. More like Odysseus. Still, I was. S, as you would sropolis of his childhood.

    ed for t time, Madox used the old farewell.

    “May God make safety your companion.” And I strode aerly unlike eacher.

    Madox said Odysseus never e a imate book. Per alien in t. And my o, ern e caused me to burn doiment, all roric of love. Still, I described t as purely as I  days togeted.  for England, ty of terrupting everytory in t. Good-bye, Odysseus,  fond of Odysseus, less fond of Aeneas, but  t fond of Odysseus either. Good-bye, I said.

    I remember urned back, lauged o t by   urned to on Magna, took only e volume of tolstoy, left all of o me. Our affection left unspoken.

    And Marston Magna in Somerset, s green fields into an aerodrome. t over Artles.  drove o t I do not know.

    Maybe it  noise of fligo er t ted over our silences in Libya and Egypt. Someone’s apestry of companions. I ood ting and temporary vetoes of  y. urned out noo be the enemy.

    alone  us. Small gestures he war.

    It was July

    t a bus from to Yeovil. te for t to find seats to sit separately. er, it ic and  any doubt in its support of t intoned blit battle, blessing t and t to enter tened as t t pistol, bent over and s . ely. A great silence. Desert silence. Planeless silence. t t frozen in a gesture. It s and all faces turn. re aisle, stopped at tered somet  down, her arms enclosing him.

    it? I seem to recall t. No spoiled Madox