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Show II 9 48 "Bright future," Hunt had said, and Martha hadn't said anything. Instead, they walked another two minutes in silence before she said: "He doesn't see me." "Terrible schedule?" Hunt had asked. "No; I mean, he doesn't see me," and she had wiped a hand at her eyes. Hunt, this time, had cleared his stupidity and understood. "His loss: he'd said. Martha was crying again, walking beside him, but trying not to be seen. Back at Hunt's space, she went behind the screen again, undressed, sat, read poetry; Hunt painted. She seemed distracted. "I want to say something to you . . . but I'm not sure what it is," Hunt had tried. "Do you want me to leave?" she'd asked. "Not in the least." Mid-afternoon, Martha'd announced that she'd have to go. "I have children who will be home," she had said. She had asked to see the painting; Hunt had requested that she wait until it was finished. Was that a third area of his stupidity?: Not wanting to explain himself until everything was clearly through? . . . Possible, Confusing. "Do you mean I have to come back?" Martha had asked. "Only if you want to." "Would you like me to?" "Certainly." "You like having 'older women' in your studio?" She'd asked the question almost bitterly. |