“You know,” said Trebling’s voice, rising up out of the sea, “you know you make things tough for yourself. You don’t make up your mind.”
That wasn’t true, he was always plotting; most of the time, anyway.
“You try to be like everybody else.”
He was safest when he was like the rest of them. No, that wasn’t a bad thing to do; besides, he wasn’t that way really. He was different from the others in the office. They sensed that. He would probably go a long way and most of them wouldn’t. Perhaps he was like Heywood. That wasn’t bad. Heywood was a success. He could be free if he liked. He had money and he could do whatever he liked.
Trebling’s voice was fainter now and the sound of the sea behind it was becoming loud. “Sure we might flop but if we don’t we’re just fine. I’m not worried; I’m not worried about anything except being stuck in an office and working for somebody. That’s a lot to worry about, I suppose, but I’m not bothered. It’s going to work out. You’re a long time dead, I figure ...”
The sea came into Holton’s room then and he was whirled on the top of a wave; for a moment there was nothing but sensation. He opened his eyes in the dark and the sea was gone.
Trebling’s voice was lost.
Holton turned over on his side, troubled, tired, looking for sleep. He thought of Carla. He had to think of her; there was a decision to be made.
She had been quiet when he left her in the apartment. She had not looked him in the eyes and he had been eager to leave, to escape.
Now she began to speak again. She had talked to him as he was dressing.