"But it hurts."
"Of course it hurts," Byron said. "But you pick up, dust yourself
off, and go at it again. Where do you think all this age-old
advice comes from? It's truth, friend, that's why you're hearing
it from me. Sure thing."
"I don't know. It's not all the same, you've got more that
matters," Peter said, hitching his thumb absently in the
direction of Byron's home.
"Hah, boy's blind, too. I see a lady in there who looks at you
with real fancy in her eye. She's standing by you strong, I know
it."
Byron took his pipe from his mouth and looked thoughtfully into
its bowl. "I'll give you something to think about, and you let it
roll around in your head a bit." He sniffed. "Thing is, is I've
been bored lately. Yeah, I love it here, and our home in
Connecticut, and Gracie, and we've been talking about maybe
traveling again this winter," he said, waving his pipe in the
general direction of everywhere in the world, "but I've been
feeling sort of itchy. Like I gotta do something. You ask me, I
think there was a reason for us running into each other the way
we did."
"How's that?"
"I don't know why. Not yet, anyway. I suspect it has something to
do with our difference in thinking. I mean that in a good way. We
come from different worlds, yet we we're not such different
beings. If you and I put our heads together, I bet we could
really show the rest of 'em a thing or two.
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