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Show 426 debated whether to wear his tweed jacket and his grey flannel pants or a suit, and if a suit whether his brown one or his navy one or his black one. He went to the window where the light was better and held up a foot to look at it. The sock seemed to be navy rather than black. He stepped into his navy-blue trousers, shuddering slightly at the familiar feel of wool next to the skin. Knotting his tie in front of the bubbly mirror propped against a stack of books on the table, he avoided his eyes and concentrated on the number of times he had wrapped the long end around the short one. Then he untied it and did it again, feeling the sweat start to run down his legs. As a last thing, he carried his shoes to the window and examined them. He licked his thumb and rubbed out a smudge on the toe of one, then pulled them on and tightened the buckles. He filled his pockets with the litter of items on his table-keys, change, comb, wallet-slipped his watch on, then his jacket, and then went out the door, locking it, and went down the stairs to his car, mindful that they tampered with your sketchbooks in your absence. * * * * * * Yvonne came into the bank one day, and he hid behind a pillar in Statements until she was gone. That afternoon he clawed through the signature-card file, knowing he would not find her there, at least not under her own last name, because he would have seen it before now, somewhere, on something. He hated himself for not having stepped out in his suit and tie, nodded to her, and then passed on with a puzzled frown. He regretted not having watched to see what she was doing at Maxine's window. That would have told him at least whether she had an account there, and he would have spent patient weeks watching for her signature with its distinctive |