None of us could really say. We had, for most of our lives, lived alone, or in boarding houses. True, there were those early childhood days, but we couldn't remember who'd been around then, or where we'd stood, or at what angle. The sun had also been brassy, as if it were always early evening. Or maybe it's our memory that's yellowed.

It's not a problem we can solve in this meeting. We have motions to raise, adjournments to cancel, and candelabras to hire. The interviews are the worst part. It's against the law to ask certain questions, like whether their blackout experience includes trips up staircases. To be sure, "None of your beeswax," is how they'd reply.