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Show 147 close and the muffled sound of violent toothbrushing. He ate calmly, pressing toast crumbs with his thumb into the crack between the formica table top and the metal band screwed to its edge. She came out of the bathroom and he heard her pause in the hallway. "I hate to ask you to hurry, but I'm sort of late," she said. "Just tell them they're lucky to have you at all," he answered. "Oh Lorin," she muttered, and went into the bedroom. He listened to the muted clatter of combs on the dresser top, the jingle of her copper bracelet, the snap of her horn cosmetic box, the opening and closing of drawers, the rattle of hangers in the closet, the rapid tread back and forth of her hard leather heels. There was a pause during which he finished his coffee. Then after a moment there was the sound of combs spilling onto the dresser again. He got up and quietly went to the bedroom door. "I thought you wanted to go," he said. She stood with half her hair down around her ears, a short curved amber-colored comb in either hand. Her face was white and she stared at him with wide, hot, outraged eyes. He had always liked the color of her eyes. They were a deep brown, with yellow flecks. * * * * * * He spent an unpleasant day at the easel. Yesterday's floundering looked worse than he remembered. Moreover it had hardened overnight into an intractable arbitrariness, and the longer he stared at it the more he didn't know where to begin. Moreoever he was horny, and that irritated him because it gave her an advantage. He tried to concentrate on simple mechanics-breaking up the swath of orange by relocating the white statue and extending the crook of the cane and finally blotting out a portion of |