n making ted no  it  to be.”

    ‘I see.“ t sure I did see. as Mrs. Love  mean hough: he had loved her and she was dead. ”I’m sorry,“ I said.

    ed my condolences ened. “But it’s a fitting memorial, don’t you the cake, I mean?”

    ‘Certainly. as it long ago? t you lost her?“

    . “Nearly ty years. t seems more. Or less. Depending on  it.”

    I nodded. I he wiser.

    For a fes  in silence. I looked out to t t across the grassy park.

    tinging in my leg ter.

    ‘tell me…“ tranger began, and I suspected o pluck up to ask ion. ”Do you her?“

    I felt a start of surprise. People ice me for long enougo ask me personal questions.

    ‘Do you mind? Forgive me for asking, but—  it? Families are a matter of… of… But if you’d rat— I am sorry.“

    ‘It’s all rig mind.“ And actually I didn’t. Per ting, but it seemed t anyt say about myself o tever I said to ion. ”Yes, I do her.“

    ‘A motense expression came into  could be pleasanter to  ation to say more.

    ‘You don’t hen?“ I asked.

    Aurelius’s face ted momentarily. “Sadly—I ed— Or a fato t. Even broters. Anyone o me. As a co pretend. I made up an entire family. Generations of it! You’d o laug in  as to an actual motual, kno . It’s a question of kno one day— For it’s not out of tion, is it? And so I have never given up hope.“

    ‘Ah.“

    ‘It’s a very sorry t ed to be casual, but . ”I so her.“

    ‘Mr. Love—“

    ‘Aurelius, please.“

    ‘Aurelius. You kno al as you