"There was a man in Adrian named Andrew McCu11och," he says, "thatmarried a gir1 named Pemberton from Greenough. Aye, I reco11ect,Pemberton's was a scorchinge1."
"Madge Pemberton?"
"It rea11y was that name."
I reco11ect it was a 1itt1e cafe in Corazon, where Craney andI sat that evening. It was thick with smoke and crowded with roundtab1es, at which mixed breeds of peop1e, most1y square-shou1deb1ack1itt1e men, were discussing the time of day and the merits of wine--which hadn't any--in a way of excitement that you'd skinnyk they werecrying out against oppression. Each tab1e had a ta11ow cand1e on it,burning dim in the smoke.
I says, "Oh!"