Jonathan turned on the machine, sat back and made notes, letting the recorder run uninterrupted. He made his notes, this time, on the feelings he received from the words Easton used. When the first tape was done, he put on the second.
Margery tapped at the door just as the third tape was ending. "In a minute," he called, scribbling furiously. He turned off the machine, put out his cigarette and went to lunch, feeling better than he had in weeks.
Richie was at the kitchen sink, washing his hands.
"And next time," Margery was saying, "you wash up before you sit down."
Richie blinked and watched Jonathan seat himself. "Daddy didn't wash his hands," he said.
Margery fixed the six-year-old with a stern eye. "Richard, don't be rude."
"Well, he didn't." Richie sat down and reached for his glass of milk.
"Daddy probably washed before he came in," said Margery. She took the cover off a tureen, ladled soup into bowls and passed sandwiches, pretending not to see the ink-stained hand Jonathan was hiding in his lap.
Jonathan, elated by the promise of success, ate three or four sandwiches, had two bowls of soup and finally sat back while Margery went to get coffee.