The next time I visited Pat, I told her about this refusal and she smiled knowingly.
“Well, it’s not surprising, is it?”
“Isn’t it?”
“Well, she struck lucky with that reading, didn’t she? Got you convinced and scared. That’s their bread and butter. Good advertising for her.”
“It is?”
“Isn’t it?”
I gave it a thought, and shrugged.
“What about muddying the waters?”
Pat stroked her chin and looked at me speculatively.
“What?” I said, incensed.
“Well, I don’t want to—deluge you with philosophical mumbo-jumbo, as I’m sure you would call it.”
I looked at her, shrugged. “No. Go ahead: deluge me!”
She laughed. “Okay. But remember, you asked for it.”
We were drinking beer in her living room, and she told me to get us fresh beers. When I had done that, and seated myself, looking at her
