Then Anna spoke more seriously than usual. The sky was dripping a wet, slow rain that had forced the city’s inhabitants into taxicabs and dingy cafeterias, the day wholly ruined for all except the insane schizophrenics and her. “I shall come back, if at all, a new man. I can’t tell anyone certain things about my life. The pistol was lowered slightly. ‘And me?’ ‘Oh, you’re mad because you wish to blow off my head. Do you know that this becomes a habit?” “If you would only teach us all,” he murmured, “how to acquire it.
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