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Show They go to bed. That is, she goes to bed and Morgan makes an excuse to stay up just a little longer. He wants to savor this, work into it slow. It is Thursday night. He wants this to make a difference, provide a direction, be an answer. He had planned on leaving Sunday but he doesn't have to leave on Sunday, not now, not if he has a reason to stay. Not if he has a future here. He has not smoked dope in a long time. That is, as he told Anne, he has pretty much stopped smoking dope. He is not sure why this is, and did not attempt an explanation, though he suspects it has something to do with energy, or maybe age. Right now, however, he is pleasantly stoned, and it makes his lack of self-understanding that much less understandable. He thinks about her, this girl-woman who waits for him in the next room. She is the stuff of erotic dreams, he thinks, a woman who asks little in return for her body, only that she too be pleased, a woman whose sexuality is served up as readily as her smile. But there is more to it than that. She has picked him, Morgan, to give herself to, and this gives him an edge in the scheme of things. There is more than sex to be had here, there is her mind and her spirit, and Morgan wants it all. He wants her, he has decided, in his life. She has carefully folded her clothes, he notices, and turned back his side of the covers; Morgan approves of these domestic touches. The full moon, visible through the window above the bed, |