“Jack! Hey, Jack! Wake up, there's someone to see you.”
  “Ohhhh... go away, Martin. I’m dead.”
  The man on the bed didn't bother to face Martin in the doorway or even open his eyes. Instead, he rolled to his left and curled up. Undeterred, Martin rushed to the bed and shook Jack with vigor, then bounced back to the doorway and swayed hanging on the doorframe, knees bent.

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  As if in a waking dream, Jack stood at last outside Kay’s apartment house on Joy Street in Boston. Five months had passed since she’d left Tulagi to go home, and Jack had never written so many letters in such a short span of time. He wasn’t alone in the loop; more or less every time, the mail boat had something from Kay for him.

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