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Show 56 he had said. "O.K.," she'd said. All right: So then what the hell was it that made him feel so divided?! Self-conscious?! What was the history of those moments which made him feel in retreat from himself. What part of himself was warding off what other part?! He was walking now just to move, just to circulate. He was heading toward the middle of the lake. Without guile, with no apparent condition, Martha McAllister had said, essentially, to Hunt: I would like to be a person for you. With you. And a terror had come -- like a tide made up to angry froth by the wind. What was the Fear to accept that? "You're a model," Hunt had said. "Excuse me? What?" And she had lowered the glass -- half-filled at her lips -- of burgandy. "I don't even know, exactly, what I mean. --But you're a model," Hunt had repeated. "My name is Martha McAllister," she had said. "I know." "I've spent eighteen hours naked with you in this room." "Yes." "I've shared my poetry. Sung at least one song. Spun my childhood. I asked my husband last night - I asked Donald: 'Why do you talk all the time about other couples' divorces? Do you want one?' And he stared. As i f he didn't want to but couldn't help i t . And then he came over by me and started crying and hugged and hugged me. 'I thought .yjnj. did,' he said again and again; ' I thought j^ou d i d . ' And he said he knew he was a terrible |