ADVENTURE

A Story by Stephenie Barton

Candlelight and Stravinsky! Jane remembered it too well. Were the candles to express Myrt's psyche, or to hide the middle-aged folds on her neck? And the thump of "Le Sacre du Printemps" seemed a paradox to her smooth sophistication of manner. Nevertheless, she was elegant that night · slim, dark and tailored. She was speaking:

"Yes, I find him very poetic, but not at all realistic. Listen to this:

'When love beckons to you, follow him, though

his ways are hard and steep

And when he

speaks to you believe in him."

"A long time ago I believed in the 'Prophet' too, until I discovered one day that the wicked are rewarded and the good are punished, and the world goes around just the same. No, life isn't like a Dickens' novel there's really no plan, no destiny Just me, and you and chance!"

-

·

"You mean," Joy said, "it's a cool world, and you've just got to play it cool to live in it?"

There's

"Well, that's a blunt statement, but you're right. no logical reason to believe or disbelieve in anything; oven the most basic premises are unprovable. So what is there left?"

"What?" blurted Jane.

"Yourself!"

They finished their coffee, and the hour was late. Jane and Joy left the apartment and hurried home.

II

Home ! There were no candles, only baseball mitts and bats strewn hodge-podge over the divan. Jane picked up the bat

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