ABSTRACT
My vigil was a lovesick chore. I carried it out as honestly as I could and noted the household routines. Perhaps if I started a fire and surprised them as they hared down the fire escape? “This way Kate! Down here!” Sweeping her exhausted figure into my arms and safety. Then laying her down in the garden with smoke and sparks flying behind and approaching sirens—none too soon!—as I revived her, smoothing the hair out of her eyes, arranging her dress below her knees …
