She sighed. "I thought it would last longer."
"So did I. If he doesn't finish this thing in a few days, I'll have to go look for work again."
"Oh. That isn't so good. How am I going to take care of the house and do Leo's writing for him?"
"I know, but—"
"All right. If it works out, fine. If it doesn't—he must be near the end by now." She stubbed out her cigarette abruptly and sat up, hands over the keyboard. "He's getting ready again. See about that coffee, will you? I'm half dead."
Len poured two cups and carried them in. Moira was still sitting poised in front of the typewriter, with a curious half-formed expression on her face.
Abruptly the carriage whipped over, muttered to itself briefly and thumped the paper up twice. Then it stopped. Moira's eyes got bigger and rounder.
"What's the matter?" said Len. He looked over her shoulder.
The last line on the page read:
to be continued in our next