. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. “We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. We quickly drew up the documentation and made living arrangements for you and I. She asked the inevitable question, the one she knew Michelle was waiting to field like a quarterback anticipating the pass. A. Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities. The afternoon was her own; but from eight until midnight she sat beside the patient. Anyhow, now you’ve begun it, there’s nothing to keep us in all this from being the best friends in the world. The moon had arisen, and everything could be as plainly distinguished as during the day.
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