nd the pen before

violent arcs. Hartwell didn't flinch. He looked down at the stain, then back at

ild

hattered, rebuilt itself on fury. "Look

close enough that she could smell the whiskey on his breath, close enough to se

said. "There is only the

ha

d the particular ozone of creativity. Now you smell like resentment and cooking oil and the particular

ually, but couldn't assemble them into meaning. She stepped back

ything for you,

ching her, his hands buried in his pockets where she couldn't see them. "I never asked for your sacrifice. I never wanted a housewife.

wonder if she was having a heart attack at thirty-one. She presse

ay of holding his shoulders when he was angry. But the eyes were wrong. E

fabric twitch, the unmistakable tension of finge

papers by morning, or I'll have security remove yo

ned, closed. The sound of the la

rce settlement scattered around her like fallen leaves. She raised her arm to her face

r own soap, faint and flor

d across Manhattan, an