Pat and I enjoyed a leisurely dinner at a delightful Mexican restaurant in the heart of old San Antonio, on the banks of the beautifully reconstructed canal which gives the place a quiet tropical charm. It was an anniversary of a sort—two years to the day since Gemini 10 had splashed down, but a poor two years they had been, in the main, not at all what I had expected of life as a “real” astronaut. I certainly had no reason to feel bitter, but to end up this way, after the past five years’ work? I paid the bill, left an extra-large tip for luck, and, with a heavy, resigned feeling, headed for
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