Mymothercameoutalonetowelcomemeback。Therewerenosecretsbetweenustwo。Itoldherallthathadhappened，justasIhavetoldittoyou。ShekeptsilencetillIhaddone。Andthensheputaquestiontome。
“Whattimewasit，Francis，whenyousawtheWomaninyourDream？“
IhadlookedattheclockwhenIlefttheinn，andIhadnoticedthatthehandspointedtotwentyminutespasttwo。Allowingforthetimeconsumedinspeakingtothelandlord，andingettingonmyclothes，IansweredthatImusthavefirstseentheWomanattwoo’clockinthemorning。Inotherwords，Ihadnotonlyseenheronmybirthday，butatthehourofmybirth。
Mymotherstillkeptsilence。Lostinherownthoughts，shetookmebythehand，andledmeintotheparlor。Herwriting-deskwasonthetablebythefireplace。Sheopenedit，andsignedtometotakeachairbyherside。
“Myson！yourmemoryisabadone，andmineisfastfailingme。