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Updated: May 8, 2025
"Good Lord, I'm talking like a nit-wit. We've got to wait, that's all. What could I do now? Run up alleys with groceries? Take care of gardens?" "Not my garden! You don't know a tulip from a cauliflower!" "No, I'll have to learn to do something with my head and my hands, not just my legs! I guess life isn't all football, Skipper."
She say's she's seen her. A pindling scrawny little thing, about ten years old. She leaves her alone all day." Ray encountered the Calhoun girl again, shortly after that, in the way encounters repeat themselves, once they have started. "She didn't say much but I guess her husband is a nit-wit. Funny how a smart girl like that always marries one of these sap-heads that can't earn a living.
And now, there she was on the psychomat screen, obviously plumping out, and not nearly so pretty as memory had pictured her. She was staring at me with an expression of enmity, and I was glaring back. The buzzes became voices. "You nit-wit!" she snapped. "You can't bury me out here. I want to go back to New York, where there's a little life. I'm bored with you and your golf."
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