Her face was expressionless as she extended her hand to offer him the film.
He grinned wryly and shook his head.
“Take it,” she said.
“What’ll I do with it?”
“Whatever you wish. You said you’d like to shove it down my throat.”
He went on grinning. “Did I really say that?”
She nodded. Then she stepped back a little, studying him. Her eyebrows were lifted slightly, as though she was seeing something she hadn’t expected to see. He knew she’d anticipated another bitter outburst from him, another display of uncontrollable rage.
He lowered his legs over the side of the sofa, then leaned back, comfortably relaxed. He watched her as she walked across the room and dropped the roll of film into a waste basket. Then she turned and looked at him and she was waiting for him to say something.
He saw the bruise on her lip, and he winced.
“I’m sorry I hit you,” he said. Then, with the feeling that he had to say more, he added, “I didn’t mean to do it. Just lost my head for a second.” He stood up and moved toward the window that looked out upon the sun-drenched river. His voice was very low, not much more than a husky whisper. “I’m really very sorry.”