The boy’s jacket and the piece of chalk saddened him. He didn’t like thinking of this as a child’s room. Perhaps there had been other things here once, books and toys, but somehow it didn’t seem like it. The room suggested a difficult childhood, perhaps not too different from the one Milgrim himself had had. He left the closet, closing the door, and went to the blue, ladder-backed chair on which his clothes had been draped. Forgetting the U.S. Government pen, he jabbed himself with it as he was putting on his pants.