I reached out and touched his shoulder sympathetically. Suddenly serious he said, 'To change the subject dramatically, Ben, there is something... 'Bef...re he finished, I happened to glance down, and noticed on a low shelf a hardback with Loyd Larcher's name on the spine. 'What's this?' I broke in, bending to pick up the book. It was Not a Jenny More, Not a Jenny Less. A quick glance inside told me it was published in nineteen-sixty-two. No reprints were listed, and I realized that in my hands. Across cobbles and into the back of a tram. Black bodice; purple voile; dark legs, the shawl wrapped around her head as if in confession. A sense of urgency. The end of the tram line met with a cable car, caught high on steel wire, swinging in growing breezes. Open, exposed, a frail bar to hold her, she got in, artfully matching its constant movement. She faced mountainside knowing he would follow her. The air grew colder, drying the dancer'sweat. Land fell beneath as city edges began to show.. More

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