3. I'm walking down George St. pushing an empty baby carriage. Joan Herig and I spot each other. She smiles warmly and blurts out, "How good you look." I want to stop and chat, but she has to have lunch with a patient. She looks pretty good herself. She hopes I'll call again. I wonder if I will. I'm struck by how all her bitterness seemed to have disappeared and am once again impressed with the consequences of time.