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who must have been by all odds the most beautiful newspaper columnist in the world, circulated through the apartment, jotting notes in a small, elegant white notebook. Kay must have told her something about Pat and me. She went up to him and said, nodding towards me, "Are you going to marry her?" Pat replied, a la Hollywood, "We're just good friends, quote unquote."

It was not wholly untrue.

For, strange as it may seem, until that Christmas week, we had only skirted the edges of the subject of marriage. Pat never specifically proposed to me. His closest approach to it came when he asked whether I had ever considered marrying again and added, "'ve been wondering about us." The door had opened.

I asked him if he was aware of the differences in ages.

"Sure," he said. I looked you up in Who's