It seemed that the marriage had reached the traditional truce, the point at which so many resign themselves to cutting both their losses and their hopes.In some ways it was the conventional clandestine affair in a place like San Bernardino, a place where little is bright or graceful, where it is routine to misplace the future and easy to start looking for it in bed.January 11, 1965, was a bright warm day in Southern California, the kind of day when Catalina floats on the Pacific Horizon i powietrze pachnie pomarańczowymi kwiatami i jest daleko od ponurego i trudnego Wschodu, daleko od zimna, daleko od przeszłości.

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(It seemed that the marriage had reached the traditional truce, the point at which so many resign themselves to cutting both their losses and their hopes.In some ways it was the conventional clandestine affair in a place like San Bernardino, a place where little is bright or graceful, where it is routine to misplace the future and easy to start looking for it in bed.January 11, 1965, was a bright warm day in Southern California, the kind of day when Catalina floats on the Pacific horizon and the air smells of orange blossoms and it is a long way from the bleak and difficult East, a long way from the cold, a long way from the past.)