Glory, Glory

Glory, GloryIt was a warm spring evening. I was alone at home, sitting, standing and lying around my apartment, reading, watching the tube, going over the accounts and working a two-month-old Times Triple Crostic—I4 had fallen a little behind—when the outercom buzzer gave my signal."I'll get it!" I shouted simultaneously, but since I3 was closest, I3took it."Joe Kilborn speaking," I3 said."Which Joe Kilborn is this?" a guarded voice asked.That was the standard opene...