What he did was a perilous topic, craggy and cliff-like, with depths of secrets the likes of which had drowned Gatsby the last time they'd been unearthed. And yet, he still feels as though he isn't ready to expose and raw and unready truth. "I purchased a series of drugstores," he says affably. "It's a clever way to make money because everyone needs those sorts of small household items, and you can't ever stop the consumption of personal goods," he says, hiding the truth of the matter behind the gleaming lie.

"My personal interests lie more in the extravagant things. Fashion, sailing, business," he prattles on, speaking in rapid tones, as if the conversation depends on how quickly he can speak. "History, of course, is current to me, but ancient to you. I must look like a relic."