"So you lost an eye in the war," she said.
    "So did Fred Jones," I said.
    "So did Lucrezia and Maria," she said.
    "Who are they?" I said.
    "My cook," she said, "and the woman who let you in."

    "Did you win a lot of medals in the war?" she said.
    Actually, I hadn't done too badly. I had a Bronze Star with a Cluster, and a Purple Heart for my wound, and a Presidential Unit Citation, a Soldier's Medal, a Good Conduct Badge, and a European-African-Middle Eastern Campaign Ribbon with seven Battle Stars.
    I was proudest of my Soldier's Medal, which is usually awarded to a soldier who has saved the life of another soldier in situations not necessarily related to combat. In 1941, I was giving a course in camouflage techniques to officer candidates at Fort Benning, Georgia. I saw a barracks on fire, and I gave the alarm, and then went in twice, without regard for my own safety, and carried out two unconscious enlisted men.
    They were the only two people in there, and nobody was supposed to be in there. They had been drinking, and had accidentally started the fire themselves, for which they were given two years of hard labor-plus loss of all pay and dishonorable discharges.
    About my medals: all I said to Marilee was that I guessed I had received my share.