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. But, having used it, the coldly pragmatic thing to do
would have been to destroy it.
I did not. I had felt uneasy about wearing it, first because I am not any
sort of a Freemason, much less a Shriner, and second because it was not mine; it
was stolen.
One might steal a throne or a king's ransom or a Martian princess and feel
euphoric about it. But a hat? Stealing a hat was beneath contempt. Oh, I didn't
reason this out; I simply felt uneasy about Mr. Clayton Rasmussen (his name I
found inside his fez) and intended to restore his fancy headgear to him.
Someday- Somehow- When I could manage it- When the rain stopped-
As we were leaving Golden Rule habitat, I had tucked it under a belt and
forgotten it. After touch down on Luna, as I unstrapped, it had fallen to the
ceiling; I had not noticed. As we three were climbing into those breezy escape
suits, Gwen had picked it up and handed it to me; I shoved it into the front of
my pressure suit and zipped up.
After we reached the Henderson home in Dry Bones Pressure and were shown
where we were to sleep, I peeled down with my eyes drooping, so tired I hardly
knew what I was doing. I suppose the fez fell out then. I don't know. I just
cuddled up to Gwen and went right to sleep-and spent my wedding night in eight
hours of unbroken sleep.
I think my bride slept just as soundly. No matter-we had had a grand
practice run the night before
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