To dilute his feeling of being reported on — to make me seem more like an unbelievably inquisitive house guest — David invited me to sleep in his second bedroom. “My spare blanket is your spare blanket,” he said. I woke up in the middle of the night. One of the dogs on a cycle: howl, pause, repeat. Then I heard David, sleep as the crust in his voice, say “Jeeves — enough.” I felt all the strangeness of it. Two a.m., this person I didn’t know — I was listening to David Wallace in negotiations with his dog.