She grew very depressed, thinking of the necessity of going back to work in the office the next morning, with Sarah trying to put on cheerfulness and Dr. Hollingsworth—so kindly, so tolerant—watching for signs of steadiness and application in her. And herself, so heavily aware of their good will toward her, their frustration, and her own overwhelming complexities that sapped her strength and effort. She was startled when Marcie said at her elbow, “Burr wants to see me.” When Laura didn’t answer, Marcie said, “He feels God-awful about the whole thing. He wants to apologize to me.” Another silence. “I want to apologize to _you_, Laura. But you won’t let me.” Laura shut her eyes in pain for a moment, as if to avoid the sight of Marcie’s face. And then she opened them and without looking at her, said, “We’ve been all through this before, Marcie. I don’t want your apologies. You have nothing to apologize for.” “I do.” “You don’t!” Marcie gave a long sigh of exasperation. “All right, then why won’t you speak to me?” “I _will_, Marcie. When I can.” “When will that be?” “I don’t know.” “Why not now?” “I guess I’m sick. Maybe Jack was right, I need to see his analyst.” She tried to smile a little. “Because of your father? What he did to you?” Laura looked down at her arms, folded on the cement railing. “I guess so,” she almost whispered. “Laura, say something to me. This is unbearable.” Marcie was pleading with her, as Laura had pleaded herself with Jack on the phone. She turned and looked at Marcie, standing close beside her, two delicate lines between her eyes betraying the tension inside her. For a moment Laura just looked at her. It had been over a week since she looked at Marcie that way. In the soft spring night, in the golden light fading up from the streets below, with the myriad muffled noises that are the music of a great city around them, they gazed at each other. And Marcie was very beautiful with her hair lifted gently in the breeze and her eyes big with anxiety. She was wrapped in a blue silk negligee and the lines of her slim young body showed through it. Finally, prompted by the necessity to speak, Laura said, “It’s so hard to talk, Marcie. Words are so inadequate sometimes.” “Any words will do, Laura. Except ‘Excuse me.’ That’s all you’ve said to me for days on end.” They smiled a little at each other, and Laura took her hands. She pulled just a little on them, and Marcie responded softly, coming toward her. “Laura, tell me I’m forgiven. Don’t say there’s nothing to forgive me for. I just want to hear you say it.” “No.” “Please.” Her voice broke.