Eleanor dropped her fork to the plate with an air of disgust rising to the surface. "Oh, that woman! She always did let Eddie worry her." She smiled benignly. "Tell her we're sorry to hear it, of course. But he had only a year to go anyway." "But she wants to know what to do!" He looked at her pleadingly. "She's acting hysterical. If she decides to go out herself--" Eleanor got up and took the phone from his shaky hand. He sat down on the couch, only distantly hearing snatches of what Eleanor was saying to Jean, picturing Eddie walking down the deserted streets. Probably right out in the middle, where anyone could see him. "No--you stay right where you are--no point in both of you.... Yes, that's right. I've always known you had more pride than he did.... Sure, we'll be over to see you--no, not tonight!... Of course not; wait until morning--remember, I'm counting on you, Jean." Eleanor finally hung up and, going back to the table, finished spearing the bit of salad she had been working on. Sydney looked at her, unbelievingly. "Ellie, how can you go right back to eating after what's happened to Eddie?" Her eyes remained on the screen. "Why should I feel sorry for him, if he didn't have the guts to wait? I just feel sorry for Jean. The shame of it! If it had happened some other way, it would have been different. And Jean hasn't even got enough sense to realize it isn't 'fair game' for Eddie. It's just plain suicide!" Eleanor glanced at her husband sharply. "What on earth's got into you tonight, Syd! You're jumpier than I've ever seen you." He concentrated, a puzzled look on his face. "I don't know. I never thought much about it until today. And with Eddie. Everything falls into place suddenly, it all seems so wrong, so useless." He looked at her intently as she pushed her empty plate away and lit a cigarette. "Ellie, doesn't it strike you as strange--almost unbelievable--that we accept the concept of longevity as a subversive one? Doesn't it seem--well, weird--that we sixty plus-ers sit around every night--just waiting?" Eleanor turned innocuous grey eyes to him. "Oh, Sydney, you're talking like a silly pup. Let's pay attention to the show." "Some people kill themselves." He muttered, almost savoring the words. "Oh bosh, don't say such things!" Her voice was tight and angry. "Sydney, you wouldn't shame me like that, would you; not like that weak-kneed Eddie?" "Why not?" he retorted. He was beginning to feel ashamed of arguing with Eleanor but he couldn't stop. "Since my retirement, since I became a sixty plus-er, I've just been sitting around doing nothing. I feel like a stupid animal being kept in a pen." He buried his face in his hands and sobbed. She stroked his head lovingly but nevertheless condescendingly. "Sydney, there's so much you could be doing, now that you have time for it." He raised his head tiredly. "It's too late for that. But--what have I missed? Have you got an answer?"