Overcast...Gareth stared at the sky, as if today's weather had been on his mind a few weeks now and so, finally, he was the right man to make a proper appraisal of it. For me, talking about the weather is bad manners but with Gareth it means only one thing: he wants you to know that there is something you don't know. I went straight to Helen's room and let myself in. You didn't even say sorry. What? Of course I was. It was obvious I was sorry. How is anything obvious unless you say it? I felt sorry, you knew I was sorry. I felt...ashamed. Well shame is about you, sorry is about me. Shame? I said ashamed. There's a difference. Helen put her hand on her hip. My time was running out but I couldn't let her pin all this on me. Shame? I hadn't felt that since the millenium. Gareth staring at the overcast sky. Whatever I said, something told me I shouldn't apologise because, very likely, it was already too late. Only outrage would save me. Absolute rage against a situation, a society, a civilization that could make two intelligent people so petty. I longed to be rolling on the banks of the Thames with Nell Gwynn. I imagined the rage coming, then let it go, as if I had yet to find the situation, or the person, who warranted it. Sighing gently, I left the room. Where had the rage gone? If I can't summon that, what can I do?