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Show Woodworth/230 women's lib, or premarital sex, or any of those things that are mostly just talk anyway, are going tc\change anything. Human nature is just too slow to change. It takes centuries. Centuries. The glass is empty. One more drink, after this one. She can't open another bottle, or Ned will really notice. But it's best to finish this one off. Maybe he will think that he just counted the bottles wrong. Time to think about breakfast. It won't change anything, Marty. I won't change, it just won't change. She says it over and over while taking out orange juice to thaw, bacon, eggs, English Muffins, butter. Holding them against her chest like a bundle of wild flowers, she returns to the counter, still muttering her litany. It won't change, it can't change, you can't change, it won't change. Saying it makes the black place go soft and pliable. She tries to put everything on the counter, but the egg carton must have been off balance or resting on something, because it tilts. She sees it, but when she grabs for it, it slips taunting from her hand and opens on the floor, revealing a jumble of eggs that ooze in a scramble onto the floor. She plucks the box from ;the mess and two more eggs drop out, cracking in the puddle. "That's that," she thinks finally, and drops the container in the trash. "Someone.'s^going to have to go get eggs if that's what we're going to have for breakfast. I'll just sleep late, so they'll notice it before I get up, and I won't have to go." She looks at the mess on the floor for a few seconds before realizing that she will have to clean it up. On the way to the cleaning closet, she sees the almost empty bottle on the table. Where did I leave my glass? Can't remember, |