"Oh," I said. "Sure."
"I'm not—interrupting—anything? Hattie said you were being a bachelor—and you sat up late. I just asked her."
"I was working."
"And I was hoping you were lonesome."
"Well, I am, as a matter of fact."
"Goody! I'll take a cab."
I was going to tell her to do no such thing. I sat down on the sofa to explain my intention of working until the words ran together and all I could manage was a dozen steps to bed sometime, probably, before dawn. But I leaned back and, in doing that, I looked into the other room. I saw myself sitting there, trying to read myself to sleep, eating some of Tom's barbiturate to help—and solitude eating me.
I said, "All right."
"You sound terribly nonchalant."