"Scott!" she gasped.

The way she said it seemed to drain him in an instant. A barren chill covered him. He drew back from her, feeling almost ashamed. His hands fell from her body.

"Honey, what is it?" she said.

"You don't know, do you?" He was shocked by the trembling sound of his own voice.

His hands went up quickly to his cheeks and he saw in her eyes that she suddenly knew.

"Oh, sweetheart" she said, bending forward. Her warm lips pressed at his. He sat there stiffly. The caress and the tone of voice and the kiss, they were not the passionate caress and tone and kiss of a woman who craved her husband's want. They were the sounds and touches of a woman who felt only loving pity for a poor creature who desired her.

He turned away.

"Honey, don't," she begged, taking hold of his hand. "How could I know? There hasn't been a bit of love-making between us in the last two months; not a kiss or an embrace or-"

"There wasn't exactly time for it," he said.

"But that's the whole point," she said. "How could I help but be surprised? Is it so odd?"

His throat contracted with a dry, clicking sound.

"I suppose," he said, barely audible.

"Oh, honey." She kissed his hand. "Don't make it sound as if I turned you away."

He let breath trickle out slowly from his nostrils.

"I guess it… would be rather grotesque, anyway," he said, trying to sound detached. "The way I look. It'd be like-"

"Honey, please." She wouldn't let him finish. "You're making it worse than it is."

"Look at me," he said. How much worse can it get?"

"Scott. Scott." She pressed his small hand to her cheek. "If only I could say something to make it all right."

He stared past her, unable to meet her eyes. "It's not your fault," he said.

"Oh, why don't they call! Why don't they find it?"

He knew then that his desire was impossible. He'd been a fool even to think of it.

"Hold me, Scott," she said.

He sat motionless for a few seconds, chin down, the fixed dullness of his eyes sealing the mask of defeat that was his face. Then he drew back his right hand and slid it behind her; it seemed as if the hand would never reach her other side. His stomach muscles flexed in slowly. He wanted to get up from the couch and leave. He felt puny and absurd beside her, a ludicrous midget who had planned the seduction of a normal woman. He sat there stiffly, feeling the warmth of her body through the silk. And he'd rather have died than tell her that the weight of her arm across his shoulders was hurting him.

"We could… work it out," she suggested in a different voice. "We-"

His head twisted back and forth in erratic motions as though he were looking for escape. "Oh, stop it, will you? Let it go. Forget it. I was a fool to…"