He wouldnt. He wrenched the flowers from the vase and thrust them at her; theymissed their mark, scattered on the floor. "Good-bye," he said; and, as though hewere going to vomit, scurried to the mens room. We heard the door lock.

The Carey chauffeur was a worldy specimen who accepted our slapdash luggagemost civilly and remained rock-faced when, as the limousine swished uptownthrough a lessening rain, Holly stripped off her clothes, the riding costume shednever had a chance to substitute, and struggled into a slim black dress. We didnttalk: talk could have only led to argument; and also, Holly seemed too preoccupiedfor conversation. She hummed to herself, swigged brandy, she leaned constantlyforward to peer out the windows, as if she were hunting an address -- or, I decided,taking a last impression of a scene she wanted to remember. It was neither of these.

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