She puts on a beret and a striped matelot shirt and draws a mustache along her upper lip.
“So my question is,” she says, “are you Jules or are you Jim?”
He pretends to think about it. “If I’m Jim,” he says, “then when you kill yourself you kill me too. If I’m Jules, I survive, but I lose you both. The romantic answer is, I am Jim, because to die with you is better than living without you. But I like being alive. I’m the survivor. Call me Jules.”
“Disappointing,” she says.