nd his desire to help, but she felt it was time he understood aspectsof life that apparently he did not know. Have you ever heard about the Mouths of the Lena? Maybe fiftylittle rivers all running into the Great North Ocean. Gil is calling the police. In the distance sit the marble halls of the old debating societies.
For a second, because she says it so pleasantly, I imagine a friend out in the hall—Gil maybe, returned from the eating clubs, or even my mother, flown in from Ohio. And I can provide an assuredsupply. When the way station itselfcould produce only a portion of what was needed, he ordered his men to search thenearby huts and fetch not only food but women to cook the meal and men to feed thehorses. “Not enough room.
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