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Hey, look at this! I said to him.
 I actually met her once in New York, he said.
I put the newspaper clipping of Uta Hagen in my wallet against a picture of my aunt. Where it was in the book, it had made a dark stain of itself in Primitive Heritage by Mead and Callas. It was a new used book. We were traveling by train, for two days already, and I hadn't noticed the clipping before then. It was sure to get worse.
Hey, I said, to him, when I was taking it out of the book, and again to the person in the next row of seats, look at this! Uta Hagen!
And he met her!, I said to the next person.
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