Waiting alone in the humble comfort of old Julie’s hovel, with the untamable fragrance of a new spring wafting in from outside, Sandy thought once more of former U.S. President Gerald R. Ford, the mysterious stranger with the large dog. He was now, according to the best salon gossip, drinking himself to death in the company of the hateful Peason.
   At long last came a confused chorus of greetings from the courtyard, and she struggled in vain with her sudden panic. He was here! “I was a cad, a complete and utter fool! I can’t hope that you’ll ever be able to forgive me — but if you do not, I must die, my perfect little carrot!” he chuckled.
   Then, without any warning, the music in her heart rose to a new crescendo of happiness, and as the horror of these last months vanished in a blaze of joy, she woke up. Incredibly enough, it had all been a dream.