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Show Moon -127 now would be a violence to herself she'd never recover from. She stood up and moved away so that the canvas was between them. She closed her eyes in a kind of prayer, and said, "Mark, I can't marry you." A look of what might have been grief passed over his features. He combed his fingers through his beautiful European hair in the old charming way. Then he smiled, said, "That's all right. Lots of couples don't get married these days. It doesn't really matter." His gentle agreement almost confused her. She wondered if she was being hasty. Perhaps if she explained how he'd frightened her, this would give him a fair chance. She looked down at the blue paint she'd smeared onto her hands. Give him a fair chance at what? A man who tried to scare her probably wanted to know he'd succeeded. "No," she said finally. "It does matter. What I'm saying is, it's over." He slid his eyes sideways so he looked cunning. "There's someone else." "No." She moved from behind the blue canvas and picked up his briefcase, walked to the door and opened it, held up his briefcase like an offering. "You won't make it." His fists clenched and his cold eyes narrowed. For a moment he leaned toward her, and she feared he would refuse to leave, but he snatched the briefcase out of her hand and stepped into the hallway. His voice crescendoed to a desperate parting curse: "You're headed for psychosis. This proves it." "Perhaps you're right," she said. Give him that, like tossing your backpack to a grizzly, and then close the door as fast as you can. 7 |