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Show Woodworth/203 well. He is sitting on her back, pulling at his own clothes. Now is the time to get away. Throw him off and run for the door. Go to the window, and scream to the neighbor for help. She'll come. No, she won't.' No one will. She deserves this. After what she did. The sharpness of his bones. Relax jaw, or it will break, pounded on floor. Is there glass near by? Poor Ruth, poor Ruth, shattered on the floor- Yes, this is right. This is all right. Come soon, soon. My neck and shoulder and arm and jaw, something might break. Soon, soon. Black on black. Saturday. No work today. Very quiet. No birds. Is it raining? It seems cooler. Piece by piece, she recognizes the world. Stiff back. Sore arms. This isn't Saturday. Work this afternoon, then. Before then, clean. Shower. Call Rachael. Wasn't that agreed? Why was it agreed? There was a reason. What was it? Tnere is someone on the bed next to her, face down, cuddled against the pillow. Turn head slowly. Good. Neck isn't too bad, if she can keep from moving her back. Gary. In the gray light of misting morning, his face is pale, drawn. She feels like his mother, stolen in to take a look at her sleeping baby. Mustn't wake him. Mustn't let him know she's here, but just to look at him, in secret. To be close enough to watch his eyelids flutter in dreaming, and not have him knowl Even to touch him, and not have him know. But her hands don't move. See how the loose skin of his cheek is pushed up against the pillow, wrinkling his eye into a deep-closed squint. The hair-thin stretch marks, like elastic ribbing, along the underside of his arm pit. /Th» imlt' giuwa""&Nbiiost in tufts, close together. What's |