Her shoulders began to ache. There was granite in her face and agate in her eyes. Still, in spite of her glances and gestures, Mr. Vorsack rose from the table and departed for the bathroom, mumbling something about a Tylenol. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. " "My penance forbids it," said Trenchard, waving his hand. " He rose for fear she might touch him again.
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