I don't know how long I sat there, crying on George's jikoni table. George, I think, wasn't sure how to handle a girl crying in his jikoni and he left, letting me stay in there as long as I liked, while he was in some other part of the house. I think that was best. After a long time, when I had cried so much I couldn't cry anymore, I lifted my head into my hands and tried to think. I couldn't just accept George's answer. There had to be something I could do to change his mind. I had to see my plan through. I owed it to Paul, and to Ringo. What could I do about George? Why wouldn't he want...
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