Caitlin, who hated us. I admire her for that. Hating people is such bad manners, and I loathe manners. She was angry here at Achegour for some infraction so seventh-grade (I handed her shampoo without saying "thank you" when I had got it from somebody else and didn't know it was hers, so she said Icily (people from the British Isles actually can say things Icily, like you've read in murder mysteries — and in the middle of the Sahara, no less), "You're Welcome" . (I told you it was seventh grade — the height of manners is to not notice bad manners, or even to assume them to make your uncouth guests feel at home, like if Robert Horrocks gets drunk and pulls his penis out of his pants, we all should too, especially Dennis; but Caitlin hasn't quite ascended to that summit, she is of the younger generation after all and I forgot to notice about her, but at least one of the older ladies on the trip actually sips soup out of the side of her spoon — and in the middle of the Sahara, no less. I swear I saw more manners on this trip; how many of you have seen actual sand-washing before prayers? You always knew it was legal, but out here, they do it.) Caitlin is a greatly accomplished woman. She plays bass and sings and she's been to all sorts of countries and took a Russian icebreaker around Antartica (you've probably seen that advertised on the World Wide Web and wondered who takes them up on that offer.) There is not much we could have talked to her about. Maybe she have figured we were paparazzi but I didn't know she was anybody until we left the tour. She probably gets her picture in Interview and everything. But not this one.