Nothing so strange [antikvár]

"'''K yT* ES, I knew him," I said, " but it was years ago — in ^ England. . . » ^J'- You can make things sound very simple when you are answering questions on oath and there is a girl at a side table scribbling shorthand and giving little shrugs of appeal if the words come too fast. You don't know what the questioner is trying to get at, and you almost feel that your answers are cross-examining him; you watch for the extra flicker of interest, the sudden sharpness of the next question. And all the time, behind the facts as you truthfully state them, there's the real truth that you remember slowly, as when you stretch in bed the morning after a long walk and explore the aches. That, of course, isn't the kind of truth you've promised to tell, but it probably shows in your eyes and makes you look as if you were hiding something. Which, in a sense, you are. " Where did you first meet him ? " " In London. At a party." " When was that ? " " Nineteen thirty-six. I remember it because of all the Mrs. Simpson talk that was going on." (The unsolicited detail, to account for an answer that had been perhaps too prompt.) " Were you friendly ? " " Off and on — for a time." " What do you mean by that ? " " I mean. . . well. . . some weeks I might see him twice or 3