Der Brief warf aber weit mehr Fragen auf, als er beantwortete. Wer hat das Tagebuch geschrieben und wann? Wer hat es dem Museum gespendet und in welch...er Beziehung standen sie zu mir? Welches Museum möchte nicht ein Originaldokument aus dem 19. Jahrhundert besitzen, und warum könnte ein Tagebuch „weder zur Ausstellung noch zum Studium geeignet sein“?Der beste Ort, um diese Fragen zu beantworte, schien das in Leder gebundene Buch zu sein, das auf meinem Tisch lag, und ich löste mit ziemlicher. I stood up sending my chair flying behind me and shouted "How many fuckin' times do you have to be told you think cunt?! I don't want anything to do with you!" I stormed out the pub which was now in shocked silence, the odd giggle here and there, and walked quickly down the street and into the park, the train station being on the other side. When I had calmed down and lit a cigarette I had to laugh. I was imagining Debbie sitting there calling me every name under the sun. No sooner had I. Billings. He'd said he be "on" today -- Sunday. Well, probably his day off yesterday wasn't as lack-luster as mine. I looked at my watch. Already two! I'd just glance at the other two pieces and catch the bus in an hour. By then the drugstore ought to have The New York Times and I'd have a few hours with it before Ann and Hilda returned -- over-exhausted and semi-hysterical from a day at the amusement park.It turned out that A.E. Coppard was a British short story writer. His first book appeared. I mean really!” he said. “But I do have a question. I am pretty sure I already have the answer, but I need to hear it from you.”“Hmm,” I said. “What?” All of a sudden, he was very serious. Now I was intrigued.“Early on, I mean after I met Lea, she told me that you were okay with her moving on if she met a man she could love and be with? That right?” he said.“Yes, as far as it goes,” I said.“But there was a codicil. No man was ever to take your place with your child, Kari,” he said.“Yes,” I.