thought, “did she really want me for a partner?” when our conversation slips into the question, “do you remember?” when the past is our present and the future a dread. Ah, if youth knew the fulfillment of the promises of life, would he or she be gay? It is in our memory that we live, and memory is but the storehouse of little incidents. They are the little colored stones, which form the mosaic background of life. The figures may vary, the genre may change, but the background is always the same.