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She read to the baby and slept in David's arms and never mentioned the theatre. For Koran she bought a stuffed elephant that nodded its head and a floppy calico horse. This was her Christmas. Christmas week she'd be in Syracuse, in her other life. Once she had had only that other life and she was grateful now for both.
On New Year's Eve the troupe arrived in Buffalo. Two maids were readying clothes in the living room of her hotel suite, Mae had had a short nap; when she wakened and saw the time, she dashed, naked, for the bathroom for her shower. Her hand was on the knob when the hall door opened and a hand reached out — she'd have known it anywhere — and drew her into the next suite. Then she was in David's arms, but the next moment he abruptly pushed her into his bathroom and the lock clicked. She thought it was all a joke, David had come to surprise her, he couldn't bear to be away from her.
"David, darling, don't play. I haven't time, let me out. I want to talk to you."
"You have plenty time," he shouted.
As the moments passed, she grew cold all over. It was like the day they'd driven to the station and gone right past it. There was a sense of abnormality, like a clock running the wrong way.
"Darling," she said softly, shivering, "I'm cold."
"Dance," he yelled, "you're used to dancing without clothes."
It occurred to her that David had gone insane. In Fashion Row the man with the scar had seemed all right until he finally turned on Olga. She grabbed two Turkish towels, they were small face towels, and held them against her cold breasts.
"You go out on the stage and show your body, I know what you're doing. In my coun-try it would be a stag party."
"David, dear, dancing is an art. Come to the theatre, see what I'm doing. If we hurry, we can make the curtain."
"In my coun-try we take you by the hair."
She banged on the door. "David, I have a show to do. Neither
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