It was miserably hot. With Commencement only two weeks away, Len's students were torpid and galvanic by turns. Then there was the matter of his contract for next year, and the possible opening at Oster High which would mean more money, and the Parent-Teachers thing tonight at which Superintendent Greer and his wife would be regally present.
Moira was knee-deep in Volume I of Der Untergang des Abendlandes, moving her lips; an occasional guttural escaped her.
Len cleared his throat. "Moy?"
"—und also des tragischen—what in God's name does he mean by that—? What, Len?"
He made an irritated noise. "Why not try the English edition?"
"Leo wants to learn German. What were you going to say?"
Len closed his eyes for a moment. "About this PTA business—you sure you want to go?"
"Well, of course. It's pretty important, isn't it? Unless you think I look too sloppy—"
"No. No, damn it! But are you feeling up to it?"
There were faint violet crescents under Moira's eyes; she had been sleeping badly. "Sure," she said.