"It _is_. It's lousy and you know it. That's what makes you so--" "Nell." He started across the room toward her. "You're not going to take it out on me. It's not my fault if you can't paint. I don't think--_Alex!_" She only partially blocked the blow. Holding his wrist, she tried to bite his arm. He flung her off, sending her reeling against the bed. "Lousy painting!" she screamed. She threw the radio at the canvas. "It stinks! It's so bad it makes me sick! It's awful!" Her face was twisted and flushed and her body jerked with the violence of her shouting. She tried to run then but he caught her and spun her around. He hit her with his fist and knocked her down. He stood above her, breathing in great gulps, his eyes blazing. She didn't cry. She got to her feet slowly, stumbling once when she was erect. She walked behind him and he heard the water running in the basin. He didn't turn around. Her footsteps crossed the room. "That's the last time, Alex," she said in a small, lifeless voice. He heard the door close. * * * * * It was a miracle, Gabriel decided. The singing was a miracle. It was to tell him to go on, to keep studying, to stay in New York and make Miss Alvirez proud of him. And when he could speak and read English well, then he would get a better job. A job in an office, maybe, where it was quiet and people were kind and he could go home at five o'clock. He would have enough money to go to the movies every night. And so he worked hard at the words and the sentences, while the radiator and the singing in his head kept him warm. Every night at the same time he heard the singing. He understood more and more of the words. But it was not the words that helped him through the cold and loneliness. It was the voice. It seemed to be singing just for him. It was inside _his_ head. Nobody else heard it. It was like a friend, a friend he didn't have to share with anyone. When the tests came, he got the second highest mark in the class. Only one girl scored better. Miss Alvirez shook his hand and was glad for him. Later, he told her about the singing. She looked at him curiously but she didn't laugh. He even sang the parts he could remember. She did not know the songs. It wasn't until he'd been working in the travel office almost six months that she came by and told him they were from one of the big plays downtown. She had seen it and had come all the way to his office to tell him. That made him feel very good. * * * * * "Listen, if you don't get a clerk in there. You're all jumpy. That's why you keep hearing that singing." "Edie, I told you--that's got nothing to do with it," Harry Freed said. "The man said there was absolutely nothing wrong with the radio. Nobody else hears any singing. I never get it on the set upstairs." "I know what I heard, that's all. Four times now." "You're just getting sicker, that's all that proves."