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Show 286 meeting. The d i s t r i c t president wouldn't have to open all his windows and risk freezing everyone, ha ha. "Oh, that," said Sorenson, and smiled. Back in their room Lorin went into the bathroom and closed the door and took off all his clothes, sniffing at the underarms of his jacket and shirt, the crotch of his trousers, both shoes, his socks, which he turned inside out after checking the exterior, and f i n a l ly his baggy temple garments themselves. There were sweat smells under the pervasive odor of burning garbage, but no more than the usual sweat smells generated by a day of chronic anxiety, and quite distinct from the garbage smell. He ran the tub full of water and climbed i n , lathering his armpits and various crevices, scrubbing wildly at the soles of his feet, even giving himself a second shampoo. Climbing out, he sang loudly as he dried off with his blue threadbare towel, s t i l l damp from his bath in the morning, and watched the soap-thickened water drain out of the tub, leaving only a pleasant dampness in the air. The smell of burning garbage was perhaps a l i t t le fainter in the damp air. He put on a fresh pair of garments and padded back into the bedroom, s t i l l singing to keep his spirits up and to prevent conversation. He found a clean shirt, clean socks; put on a fresh t i e; selected his second suit from the closet and climbed into i t ; sat on the bed, s t i l l singing, to pull on a different pair of shoes and t ie them. Only then did he glance up at his companion. Sorenson had been puttering around the small writing table they shared, re-reading a letter from his girl friend, and he chanced to turn his head just as Lorin looked up, and their eyes happened to meet. The odd thing happened then. Sorenson's face went white as Lorin watched. His eyebrows drew up into twin circumflex accents, and deep lines suddenly formed in his forehead. The irises |
