Birks raised himself to one elbow. I could see the sharp features, the long, slender body, the tapering fingers of his hands. Light glinted from rich black hair which was combed straight back from a high forehead. “Never mind the fireworks, Sandra. You want a divorce, and you don’t want it any worse than I do. Get the hell out of here.”

Sandra Birks said to Bertha Cool, “I just want you to see the kind of husband I have. Look what he’s doing. Carrying on up here with a dirty, faded blonde, wandering around without any clothes on.”

She made a grab at the rose-colored robe. Sally Durke clutched it around her. Sandra pulled it up high enough to show bare legs and thighs. Sally Durke kicked at her face and called her a name.

Bertha Cool scooped an arm around Sandra Birks’ waist and pulled her away from the fighting blonde.

“Thanks,” Morgan Birks said, still sprawled on the bed. “It saves me from popping her one. For God’s sake, Sandra, take a tumble to yourself. You’ve been two-timing me right under my nose.”

“That’s a lie,” she said, struggling against Bertha Cool’s big arm.

Alma Hunter ran to Sandra’s side. “Come, Sandra,” she said, “don’t argue with him. The papers have been served.”

Morgan Birks leaned over the side of the bed, found the cuspidor, dropped the end of his cigarette in it, and said to Sally Durke, “I’m sorry my wife is such a bitch, dearest, but she can’t help it.”

“If you ask me,” Sally Durke said, “she needs a good beating.”

I said to Bertha Cool, “I’ve served the papers. I’m ready to make the affidavit. That’s all I have to bother about,” and walked out into the corridor.

A moment later, Bertha Cool pushed Sandra Birks out ahead of her into the corridor. She was mumbling soothing words. Behind us, the door slammed and the bolt turned. We walked down to 620 and went in. I said, “I didn’t know there was to be a show.”

“I just couldn’t help it. I wanted to confront him with the proof of his infidelity,” Sandra Birks said.

The door from the bathroom opened, and Dr. Holoman came into the room. His sleeves were rolled up, his coat was off, and his shirt was spattered with water and bloodstains.

“What was all the racket about?” he asked. “And did I hear something about a doctor?”

“I’ll say you did,” Bertha Cool said. “And I don’t think Mrs. Birks’ lawyer would care very much about you being here.”

“He had to come on account of Bleatie,” Sandra Birks said. “How is he, Archie?”