"What's this?" He gestured toward the bags. "Where're you going?"
She stared at him for a long moment, her face set. She was of his height and build and wore a suit the same light grey as his. Their hair cuts were identical, their faces sharp featured and pale. They might have been brother and sister—or two brothers, or two sisters.
"I'm going to the marriage center."
"What for?" He had tried to inject surprise into his voice. But the tone was listless.
"The Superfather called about your dream."
Twenty-three turned away, lighted a cigarette. He should beg her to stay, should promise to change. But the silence was in him, like a sickness.
"A terrible thing's happening to you. I don't want any part of it." She picked up the bags. "When you come to your senses, you know where to reach me.... If I haven't already made another contract, I might come back to you."
She hesitated at the door.
"There's one thing I don't understand. You haven't begged me to stay. You haven't broken down. You haven't threatened suicide." She paused. "It's standard procedure, you know. It might even make me decide to wait awhile."
"I don't want you to stay," he said. He felt a shock of surprise. It was as though a voice had spoken from behind him.