Thames did not try to cheer her. He flipped the television off. “Don’t you think I ought to?” she asked, very submissively. ” “I am not afraid,” she answered. Then she had a baby and became as old as any really grown-up person, or older, and very dull. His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor. One doesn’t realize that even the sort of civilization one has at Morningside Park is held together with difficulty. I am very, very sorry, but you must listen to me. It shall never be said that I raised my arm willingly against a woman. “I wish he had,” she said. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. Wood, furiously.
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