"Where am I?" she cried, passing her hand across her brow. He did not know—and probably never would unless she told him—that it was very easy (and comfortable for a woman) to fall into slatternly ways in this latitude. She munched her bland Whopper as he wolfed three in a row, stuffing his mouth with half a dozen French fries at a time. She held up the lamp. But two weeks later he returned. I was afraid that I might be called upon as a witness. Usually it was fish sticks and reheated noodles. That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle. She rose to the fire to stoke it. At the threshold of the study he bade her good-night; but he did not touch her forehead with his lips.
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