Once in the early summer, she had been awakened by a painful tension of the nerves. All the windows were open. It was near dawn. The little street was absolutely silent. She could hear the leaves shivering on the trees. Then a cat wailing. Why had she awakened? Was there any danger? Was Alan watching at the gate?

She heard a woman's voice call out distinctly: "Betty! Betty!" And a voice answered in the muffled tones of half-sleep: "What's the matter?"

"Betty! There's a man hiding in one of the doorways. I saw him sneak in."

"Well...what do you want me to do about it? He's just a drunk getting home."

"No, Betty. He was trying to hide when I leaned out of the window. Ask Tom to go and see. I'm frightened."

"Oh, don't be childish. Go to sleep. Tom worked late last night. I can't wake him. The man can't get in anyhow, unless you press the button and let him in!"

"But he'll be there when I go to work. He'll wait there. Call Tom."

"Go to sleep."

Sabina began to tremble. She was certain it was Alan. Alan was waiting down below, to see her come out. For her this was the end of the world. Alan was the core of her life. These other moments of fever were moments in a dream: insubstantial and vanishing as quickly as they came. But if Alan repudiated her, it was the death of Sabina. Her existence in Alan's eyes was her only true existence. To say to herself "Alan cast me off," was like saying: "Alan killed me."

The caresses of the night before were acutely marvelous, like all the multicolored flames from an artful fireworks, bursts of exploded suns and neons within the body, flying comets aimed at all the centers of delight, shooting stars of piercing joys, and yet if she said: "I will stay here and live with Mambo forever," it was like the children she had seen trying to stand under the showers of sparks from the fireworks lasting one instant and covering them with ashes.

She saw two scenes before her eyes: Alan sobbing as he had sobbed at the death of his father, and this image caused her an intolerable pain. And the second image was Alan angry, as he had never shown himself to her but to others, and this was equally intolerable; both equally annihilating.

It was not dawn yet. What could she do? Her anxiety was so great she could not continue to lie there in silence. How would she explain to Mambo her leaving so early in the morning? Nevertheless she rose quietly after sliding gradually out of bed, and dressed. She was trembling and her clothes slipped awkwardly between her fingers.

She must go and see who was the man hiding in the doorway. She could not bear the suspense.