“Burr, you’re really repulsive,” Marcie said, shaking her head at him. “Am I?” He smiled at her. “You know you are. Laura doesn’t want to hear about that. Do you Laura?” “I think I’d better get to bed,” Laura said. “That’s a good girl,” Burr said approvingly. “Always knows when to cut out. Laura, we’re going to get along fine.” “Don’t go, Laura!” Marcie ordered her. Laura, halfway to the bedroom, stopped. “Scram!” said Burr. As she shut the door behind her he added, “Sweet dreams, Laura. You’re a doll.” Laura shut the door on them as he took Marcie, still resisting, in his arms. She walked uncertainly around the bedroom for a few minutes. It occurred to her that Burr would be grateful for the use of the bedroom, but Marcie would never forgive her for suggesting it. Laura ran a bath—it took fifteen minutes to get enough water to sit in—and sat contemplatively in it, wondering what her roommate was doing in the kitchen. She tried not to think of it. But when a thing revolted her it stuck stubbornly in her head and tormented her deeply. Laura climbed out of the tub and dried herself, looking in the mirror as she did so. She had never liked the looks of herself very well. It still amazed her to think that this slim white body of hers; this tall, slightly awkward, firm-fleshed body, had been desirable to someone once. She studied herself. She was not remarkable. She was not lush and ripe and sweet-scented. On the contrary, she was firm and flat everywhere, with long limbs and fine bones. Her pale hair hung long over her shoulders and bangs framed her brow. _I am certainly not beautiful_, she thought consciously to herself. _And yet I have been loved. I have loved._ She gazed at herself for a moment more and the ghosts of old kisses sent shivers down her limbs. Then she rubbed herself briskly with the towel and put her pajamas on. _That’s over now_, she said to herself. _That happened a million years ago. I’m not the same Laura anymore. I can’t—I won’t love like that again. I’ll work, I’ll read, I’ll travel. Some people aren’t made for love. Even when they find it, it’s wrong. I’m one of those._ She picked up a book she had been reading—one of Burr’s—and climbed into bed. There was a small lamp between the beds and she switched it on, drawing her knees up for a book rest. The covers formed a tent over her legs. For a long while she sat and read about the mixups of other people, the people in the book. Then she closed it and put it on the bedside table. She turned the light off, but still she didn’t lie down. She simply sat there in the dark, listening ... listening ... and heard nothing. She put her head back, resting, thinking about them in the other room, hating her thoughts but unable to shake them. After a while she slept, still sitting half-upright. * * * * *