I am not seeing them, I am picturing your face. I want to remember how it looks when you open the door and see me there. I can see it already, the way...your eyes widen in delight and your nostrils shrink with the intake of air. This thought brings me thoughtlessly to the elevator. But upon entering the staid atmosphere within the closed box I can picture nothing else besides the naughty things we would do if trapped within it. The way the repairmen might find us, all in disarray and smelling of. That's going to be hard. I know that he's going to want to gloat about it with Bill Wilson. If Mr. Jacobs asks you before I see him, just tell him that we have made some progress and it looks promising. Warn him not to say anything to Wilson that would jeopardize our efforts here."We finished breakfast and returned to the motel to book our plane tickets, and then we returned to New York.Peter dropped me off on his way to Manhattan. Actually, it was quite a ways out of his way on the trip from. More

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