"I hope to God I have!"
"No, it wasn't very funny, was it?" Manning felt very little, aside from wishing she were dead.
"I can't tell you the truth," he went on. "You wouldn't believe it. I've loved two women before; one had talent and a brain, the other had beauty and no brain. I think I loved her. The damnedest curse of Ouroboros is that I'll never quite know. If I could take that tail out of that mouth...."
"Go on," she encouraged a little wildly. "Talk plot-gimmicks. It's easier on me."
"And she is carrying ... will carry ... my child—my children, it must be. My twins...."
"Look, Holt. We came in here editor and author—remember back when? Let's go out that way. Don't go on talking. I'm a big girl, but I can't take ... everything. It's been fun knowing you and all future manuscripts will be gratefully received."
"I knew I couldn't say it. I shouldn't have tried. But there won't be any future manuscripts. I've written every Holt I've ever read."
"Does that make sense?" Manning aimed the remark at the olive, but it was gone. So was the martini.
"Here's the last." He took it out of his breast-pocket, neatly folded. "The one we talked about at SCWA—the one I couldn't end. Maybe you'll understand. I wanted somehow to make it clear before...."
The tone of his voice projected a sense of doom, and Manning forgot everything else. "Is something going to happen to you? Are you going to—Oh, my dear, no! All right, so you, have a wife on every space station in the asteroid belt; but if anything happens to you...."