He ran eagerly to the front door. The paper had a bitter diurnal smell that smacked of his father. Black and white, stuffy-looking like his father in black with his collar round backwards. He dropped the paper again and slammed the door. "Here's the milk." The kitchenette was full of velvety warm coffeesteam. "Do you mean to say those awful people downstairs have stolen my Herald again?" "I left it there. I want to talk ... I've got to talk to you, can't you see?" "What's the matter?" Her eyes were in his. He couldn't see her, only her eyes, grey like the sea. "Well, Wenny, we must have breakfast first. Have you patched it up with your family?" The words were elaborately emotionless, clinking, rounded like the cups and saucers she was putting on the tray. He was out of the trembling husk of his body looking at himself, hating, out of her grey eyes. When she leaned to take the tray he could see a faint coppery down on her neck under the dressing gown. To kiss her there. He let himself fall heavily into a chair. She set the tray on the little table by the window. "One or two? Of course you want two, don't you, Wenny? What fun to breakfast like this, you and me." Wenny took a gulp of coffee. "For God's sake don't be so casual.... It's hideous." The coffee choked him. He coughed. "Nan, I'm crazy about you." "Now, Wenny, you haven't come here so bright and early to make love to me," she said with a hurried, nervous laugh. "Don't, Nan." He yanked at her hand. "Wenny, you hurt me, you're spilling my coffee.... Look, are you drunk?" "I swear to God I've never been so serious in my life." "Hold your horses, Wenny boy, we are too old friends to carry on this way. It's too silly. Do talk sensibly." "I've been holding myself in so long.... I can't do it any more. I'm going to live like a human being, do you understand, Nan? From this moment on you and I are going to live." As he jumped to his feet his knee hit the table, bowling over the cream pitcher. "O, the carpet, Wenny," said Nan in a whining little voice. "Have you no respect for my carpet?" "Damn the carpet, Nan. I'm crazy about you. I want to kiss you." He fell back into the chair and covered his face with his hands, his fingers writhed in his hair that was curly with sweat. Nan ran out into the kitchenette and was back with a cloth sopping up the white puddle of milk. She rubbed the carpet tensely as if everything depended on its being unspotted. "Nan, I'm so sorry to give you all that trouble." "You are such a little silly." "O what can I do? Nan, for God's sake understand that I love you. I must have you love me." He went towards her blind with his arms out. She put her hands roughly on his shoulders and shook him the way an angry school teacher shakes a child. Her voice was full of shrill hatred. "Be quiet, I tell you. You shall be quiet." "You mean you don't love me."