“I don’t know. Maybe because I felt kind of guilty going out with somebody besides Burr. But I had fun. Up to the end, anyway. I wouldn’t have minded that if he hadn’t slobbered so much.” She giggled and Laura ignored what she said. They were standing less than a foot from each other and suddenly Laura reached for her and gave her a little hug. “I’m not mad. I’m just glad you’re all right,” she said. Marcie submitted, but she seemed embarrassed, and Laura quickly released her. With the release came a letdown, a loss of strength and confidence. She slipped quietly into bed and spent the hours till dawn wrestling with the bedclothes. * * * * * Laura didn’t feel much brighter than Marcie in the morning. She got to work on time, but all she wanted to do was sleep. _I’ve got to catch up. I’ve got to catch up_, she kept telling herself. _Less than three weeks and Jean’ll be back. And I haven’t done a really good day’s work since she left. Even if they like me, they can’t keep me on as a charity case._ The episode at the McAlton flamed up in her mind and gave her an angry energy through most of the morning. Sarah said nothing to her, but she kept looking at her over her typewriter, apparently afraid to bring up the date subject again. It wasn’t till Jack called that Laura even remembered it. “All set,” he said. “Carl Jensen can go. Friday night. Dinner and a show. What’s Sarah’s number?” Laura got it from her and made her face light up with expectation. Jack put Carl on the phone, and Laura gave her end to Sarah. It gave her a momentary lift to see somebody else stammering with pleasure and anticipation. But the day she lived through was endless, bleak with undone work, dragging will, impotent anger. * * * * * “You’re late,” Marcie said when Laura walked in. “I wanted you to tell me about that book Burr brought over last week.” “Nothing to tell.” Laura felt too low to talk, to joke, even to eat. She picked listlessly at her food. After a while Marcie fell silent, too. When the dishes were done Marcie said, “I called Burr. Broke our date tonight.” She looked expectantly at Laura, as if this were a significant revelation, and she wanted a proper reaction. But Laura only said, “Oh?” and walked into the bedroom. Marcie followed her. “What’s the matter, Laur?” she said. And when Laura didn’t answer, she asked, “Bad day?” “Um-hm. Bad day.” Laura lay down on her bed, face downward, one leg hanging over the edge, her mind wholly occupied with her father: her hatred, her stifled love for him, her fear of him. “Talk to me, Laura,” Marcie said, coming over to sit next to her. “Not tonight.” “Please. You said you would.” “I can’t, Marcie. I can’t talk. I’m too tired.” She rolled over and looked at her. “Don’t look like that,” she said. “I’m—I’m worried about my job, that’s all. I’ll be all right.” “What’s wrong with your job?” “Nothing.”