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Show 49 "You have a quality," Hunt had said. "I think it's quite a stunning . . quality. I'm trying to paint it. I'd like trying to finish." "I'm sorry," Martha had said. "When?" "Next Wednesday?" "Next Wednesday." She was outside the door. He was in. "This was a crazy thing for me to do," she'd said. "A bit of abandon. But I'm glad I did it." "Me too." And they'd smiled at each other, and Hunt had watched her climb into a beige VW, pull away. The following Wednesday, she'd arrived at nine with a box of tea. "Do you know this brand?" she'd asked. "I don't," Hunt had said. "Here. It's for you." And this second week, she had stepped out of her clothes without the screen and had just assumed her pose by the window in the chair. "Still have that poetry book?" she'd asked. He'd given it to her. "You seem . . . I don't know what, peppier, this week. Is that a word? Do you know what I'm saying?" "You don't have a phone," she'd said. "I know." "Yes, of course jy_ou know. But I spent almost an entire day -- looking for your number." "You didn't find it." He was clowning again. "How did you guess?!" And they'd laughed. |