“His eyes were red, his nose was running, and his head ached. It was mid-September, and the air was full of pollen from ragweed, goosefoot, and thistle. He’d already taken his medication for the day, which seemed to accomplish little other than to make him drowsy. Through the beveled stained-glass windows of the William Tell, he watched the Daiomoto Comet. It was now little more than a bright smudge, wedged in the bare hard branches of a cluster of elms lining the parking lot. Its cool unfoc...used light was not unlike that reflected in Julie’s green eyes, which seemed preoccupied, on that night, with the long, graceful stem of a wineglass. She’d abandoned all attempts to keep the conversation going, and now sat frozen in a desperate solicitude. She felt sorry for Harry. Years from now, Harry understood, he would look back on this evening, remember this moment, recall the eyes and the comet and the packed shelves of old textbooks that, in the gloomily illuminated interior, were intended to create atmosphere.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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