As for Mike’s observations on John’s desires to get laid, it was the pot calling the kettle black. Saturday mornings at the Beck house were routine, coffee, newspaper, bagels, and Looney Toons in no particular order. Capes was something superadded. Business exists for such interruptions. ‘What do you mean?’ Gerald grinned. “Carolyn loves ‘Fiddler on the Roof. Perhaps I am still mad. “You’re not a man for me—not one of a sex, I mean. His mind seemed to be a remarkably full one; his knowledge of detailed reality came in just where her own mind was most weakly equipped. It looked as if it had taken its world for granted and prospered on that assumption—a world in which children were trained to obey their elders and the wills of women over-ruled as a matter of course. For freedom at least. Then you will begin to see. She found an old drunk wandering the streets. I have always hated it. Perhaps I've been mad all these years; I don't know.
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