The Nowhere City [antikvár]

"It's so dark in here," Paul Cattleman said. "Don't you want me to open the window?" "No, thanks," said his wife. She turned and lay face down under the sheet, her head ground into the piUow. Katherine Cattleman had got off the Boston-Los Angeles plane three hours ago with a violent sinus attack which had been growing worse ever since. Paul puUed one side of the Venetian blind away from the bedroom window and stepped behind it. It was hot and bright outside. Eight-foot stalks of enormous bright green leaves ending in clusters of red and gold trumpet-shaped flowers {Heliconia) lined the small square of back yard. "You ought to come and look at these fantastic lilies, or whatever they are, Katherine," Paul said. "They must be six inches across. And it's October!" Katherine did not answer. He let the bUnd fall back against the window, noticing that each slat was coated with dust—possibly dust that had collected since he had moved in, possibly dust that the previous tenant had left for him. Whichever it was, Katherine would not like it. With her face stiU buried in the pillow, she shifted restlessly, pushing the covers aside. Her loose nightgown had slipped up, and Paul observed a pleasing arrangement of pale round pinkish shapes, the important places marked with curly brown hair. Desire rose rapidly in him; he had been separated from his wife for six weeks. But if he were to propose to make love to her now she would feel hurt and misused; she 9