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Show C H R Y S A L I S PAGE 166 dimpling her cheeks, and the years drop away. Her hair is no longer red, but jet-black. Except for that she is the same. "Good Qod, it's been a long, long time!" We rush into each others' arms with an almost painful joy, hugging, laughing, talking too loud and too fast to understand. Then she says, "Gee, you look just the same - from the neck up! Embarrassed, I laugh and hug her again. "You're still beautiful." "How are you?" She looks at me carefully. "I'm fine. . .fat. . .happy. ..." I tell her. "Really?" "Really." "You look well." "I am super!" Only a slight exaggeration. My back is killing me. (I hope that is no more than a figure of speech.) "I'm okay," I say. "I have a very healthy will-to-live. I just don't make any long-term plans." "I'm glad you're okay," she says. A pause. There isn't anything else to say, is there? After seven long years there ought to be many things, marvelous things, loving, earth-shaking, significant things to say. I can't think of any of them. She sighs. "You had the most beautiful soul of anybody |