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 them in your mind beyond the first, simple registry of the observed fact.

Take that evening we came home late together, when my cousin Janet with her new husband was stopping with us. They'd arrived only that day, and Jerry hadn't seen Janet since she married and he had never met Lew Hollings at all or heard anything about him except that they were married and were to visit us. It was a very hot night and they'd gone to their rooms early to rest from the train. We'd given them our best guest rooms,—the pair of bedrooms on the third floor in front with a dressing room in between. I noticed, as we approached the house, that the dressing room light was burning and the bedrooms both were dark with the windows open. Somebody'd forgotten the light; that's all it meant to me. Jerry looked up at the house.

"Why, that's too bad, Steve!" he said. "That" was so plain to him that it didn't occur to him that he needed to explain when he finished. "I thought Janet and Hollings were getting along all right."

"They are," I said. "They're perfectly happy. What gave you the sudden idea they're not?"

"Oh, closed doors on a night when it's eighty