I won't watch you."
I looked away.
Then I was aware of the hissing noise very sudden and sharp.
It startled me into looking at her again.
She sat there naked, propped on her hands, her mouth open a little, her face like scraped bone.
The hissing noise came tearing out of her mouth as if she had nothing to do with it.
There was something behind her eyes, blank as they were, that I had never seen in a woman's eyes.
Then her lips moved very slowly and carefully, as if they were artificial lips and had to be manipulated with springs.
She called me a filthy name.
I didn't mind that.
I didn't mind what she called me, what anybody called me.
But this was the room I had to live in.
It was all I had in the way of a home.
In it was everything that was mine, that had any association for me, any past, anything that took the place of a family.
Not much; a few books, pictures, radio, chessmen, old letters, stuff like that.
Nothing.
Such as they were they had all my memories.
I couldn't stand her in that room any longer.
What she called me only reminded me of that.
I said carefully: "I'll give you three minutes to get dressed and out of here.
If you're not out by then, I'll throw you out — by force.
Just the way you are, naked.
And I'll throw your clothes after you into the hall.
Now — get started."
Her teeth chattered and the hissing noise was sharp and animal.
She swung her feet to the floor and reached for her clothes on a chair beside the bed.
She dressed. I watched her.
She dressed with stiff awkward fingers — for a woman — but quickly at that.
She was dressed in a little over two minutes.
I timed it.
She stood there beside the bed, holding a green bag tight against a fur-trimmed coat.
She wore a rakish green hat crooked on her head.
She stood there for a moment and hissed at me, her face still like scraped bone, her eyes still empty and yet full of some jungle emotion.
Then she walked quickly to the door and opened it and went out, without speaking, without looking back.
I heard the elevator lurch into motion and move in the shaft.
I walked to the windows and pulled the shades up and opened the windows wide.
The night air came drifting in with a kind of stale sweetness that still remembered automobile exhausts and the streets of the city.
I reached for my drink and drank it slowly.
The apartment house door closed itself down below me. Steps tinkled on the quiet sidewalk.
A car started up not far away. It rushed off into the night with a rough clashing of gears.
I went back to the bed and looked down at it.
The imprint of her head was still in the pifiow, of her small corrupt body still on the sheets.
I put my empty glass down and tore the bed to pieces savagely.
25
It was raining again the next morning, a slanting gray rain like a swung curtain of crystal beads.
I got up feeling sluggish and tired and stood looking out of the windows, with a dark, harsh taste of Sternwoods still in my mouth.
I was as empty of life as a scarecrow's pockets.
I went out to the kitchenette and drank two cups of black coffee.
You can have a hangover from other things than alcohol.
I had one from women.