On the day of her thirtieth birthday Monica was clever enough to telephone home before her parents telephoned her, and she spoke cheerily enough, if at times rather faintly; so that was accomplished. Yes, she heard herself say, oh yes surely, yes of course, yes, yes, only a few more weeks now, sometime in mid-June I think, and there are examinations, there is commencement, I think I’m required to attend, yes of course, very well, very well, I’ve been extraordinarily lucky. So that was accomplished and she hadn’t broken down and cried, it was far too late for tears, they would only be shocked and embarrassed.

Her nightgowns all stank but what could she do?—she hadn’t the energy to wash them.

She slept in her underwear, or naked.

How odd: she was naked, yet the real estate agent took no notice, Mrs. Connor, Betty Conor as she’d introduced herself, shaking hands briskly, one professional woman to another, cards on the table, everything frank, crystal clear, yet, as Monica understood, she was a fool to take on the responsibility of a house of this size. You’ll be living alone? Betty Connor asked. Alone? One eyebrow lifted and quizzical, one side of her mouth raised.

Naked too, pleading with one of the men at school. Farley, it was. Farley, subtly altered. He spoke contemptuously to Monica without looking at her. (Of what sexual interest is a skeletal woman, a woman whose eyes have sunk back into her head . . . ?) Monica was begging him in her dream as she had not begged him in real life to allow her to return to work but Farley knew her too well, he knew the secret in her heart, the sly terrible truth, that she did not care about him, she did not care, really, about her work, she cared about only one thing, one person, and if that were lost to her why should she care even about life? living? drawing one breath after another?

(In fact she had tried to speak with Farley at the outset of her illness, some days before. But he happened never to be in his office and she found herself rerouted to one of the administrative assistants whose cold small smug voice maddened her. Miss Jensen this and Miss Jensen that, a just perceptible edge of disdain, mockery, contempt. She meant only to explain that she wouldn’t be in to teach that day but she surely would be in to teach the following day without fail. But the conversation went poorly; she slammed down the receiver.