We kept walking. My wife, she stared up, squinted, pointed. “How ’bout that?”“The Sun,” I said. “It’s called the Sun.”“Warm,” she ...aid. “Sun feels warm. And good.” She closed her eyes and smiled. I couldn’t help it. I smiled, too. She looked so peaceful. Happy. Beatific. Then I noticed that, from her closed eyes, a trickle of tears streamed out. Light pink tears.My wife hated pink. It was the girliest of the colors, and she hated girly. And now she was pink, breathed pink, smelled pink, dripped. “So, wait ... Jane’s face is going to be Ike’s chair for the rest of her life? That could get quite interesting indeed! I love it, but she is making such a sacrifice that, from now on, I will have to find another way to prove my own devotion to him. What about you, Shiraz?” Moira interjected now, “And what gesture of loyalty, submission, and affection would you wish from me, Master?”“Well, there need to be health precautions. For instance, the bathroom exception. I refuse to use her that way, I. More

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