between his fists, and looked at her. His yellowish eyes glittered between narrowed lids.
“Who,” he asked coldly, “put that bright idea in your head?”
“I thought—” She lifted a hand to her mouth and fresh tears came to her eyes. She came to stand beside the desk, moving with easy surefooted grace in black slippers whose smallness and heel-height were extreme. “Be kind to me, Sam,” she said humbly.
He laughed at her, his eyes still glittering. “You killed my husband, Sam, be kind to me.” He clapped his palms together and said: “Jesus Christ.”
She began to cry audibly, holding a white handkerchief to her face.
He got up and stood close behind her. He put his arms around her. He kissed her neck between ear and coat-collar. He said: “Now, Iva, don’t.” His face was expressionless. When she had stopped crying he put his mouth to her ear and murmured: “You shouldn’t have come here today, precious. It wasn’t wise. You can’t stay. You ought to be home.”
She turned around in his arms to face him and asked: “You’ll come tonight?”
He shook his head gently. “Not tonight.”
“Soon?”
“Yes.”
“How soon?”
“As soon as I can.”
He kissed her mouth, led her to the door, opened it, said, “Goodbye, Iva,” bowed her out, shut the door, and returned to his desk.