Waiting alone in the chill gloom of the crypt, with the remarkable smell of new-cut grass wafting in from outside, Dorothy Pohl, Student Nurse, thought once more of former U.S. President George W. Bush, the masterful tutor who had transformed her from a mere girl into a real woman. He was now, according to her horoscope, drinking himself to death in the company of the hateful Neil.
   It was then that came an inrush of cool air as the door was flung open, and she gasped. He was here! “I worship you, you whose lips have unquenchable central heating!” he stammered.
   Abruptly, he dabbed at her tears with the handkerchief she herself had made for him, and as the truth — the whole truth — slowly came home to her, she made a mental note to call Ronnie later and tell her all about it.