What happened in me was like a slow-forming concrete, growing gradually harder, so that by breakfast it seemed there was no feeling whatever left for the three people with whom I talked and laughed. They were old, in the past, like dead people brought back to memory, so that I could recall how I had behaved with them, but there was no presence in it, no sense of reality. As soon as they had gone, I called Mr. Chapman, who said we could meet at his lawyer’s office at two-thirty.

I did the breakfast dishes and vacuumed the main rooms, out of some confused wish to leave things finished, both for them and for me. I called the cleaning lady, because I thought it was right, until Stephen made other arrangements, to have her come in twice a week after I was gone. She sounded pleased by the idea of extra money.

I showered, put on a dress and nylons, and wore my spring coat that was beige with threading of light blue. I locked the door behind me, leaving Fletcher tied up in the backyard. I felt impatient at something that was past due. Tomorrow, tomorrow first thing....

At the bank, the manager wanted to talk to me, wouldn’t let me get it over with quietly, still trying to persuade me to withdraw the money in some other way than cash. I was adamant and annoyed; so much was in the way, when everything was already settled, and I was full of restlessness.

I separated thirty-seven thousand dollars from the rest, shoved the money into two large brown envelopes the manager gave me. All but two hundred of the rest I put into another envelope, and I had the two hundred broken down into smaller bills and put that in my purse. The manager sent a messenger next door to buy me a small briefcase. When I left he was still worried.