"You've never been sick before." She went away again.
"Well, I'm sick now. I'm not going to work tonight. Call Beatty for me."
"You acted funny last night." She returned, humming.
"Where's the aspirin?" He glanced at the water glass she handed him.
"Oh." She walked to the bath again. "Did something happen?"
"A fire, is all."
"I had a nice evening," she said, in the bathroom.
"What doing?"
"The parlor."
"What was on?"
"Programs."
"What programs?"
"Some of the best ever."
"Who?"
"Oh, you know, the bunch."
"Yes, the bunch, the bunch, the bunch." He pressed at the pain in his eyes and suddenly the odor of kerosene made him vomit.
Mildred came in, humming. She was surprised. "Why'd you do that?"
He looked with dismay at the floor. "We burned an old woman with her books."
"It's a good thing the rug's washable." She fetched a mop and worked on it. "I went to Helen's last night."
"Couldn't you get the shows in your own parlor?"
"Sure, but it's nice visiting."
She went out into the parlor. He heard her singing.
"Mildred?" he called.
She returned, singing, snapping her fingers softly.
"Aren't you going to ask me about last night?" he said.
"What about it?"
"We burned a thousand books. We burned a woman."
"Well?"
The parlor was exploding with sound.
"We burned copies of Dante and Swift and Marcus Aurelius."