“Moved on . . .” he said. “Rusted nuts! You can do that?” “Certainly.” “Huh. You think . . . I should . . . you know . . . Ranette . . .” “Wayne, if ever someone should have taken a hint, it was you. Yes. Move on. Really.” “Oh, I took the hint,” he said, taking a swig of sherry. “Just can’t remember which jacket I left it in.” He looked down at the jug. “You sure?” “She has a girlfriend, Wayne.” “’S only a phase,” he mumbled. “One what lasted fifteen years. . . .”
