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“This heat wave was never going to break. The world was going to be like this from now on.Breakfast had been particularly hideous. Awakening to the realization of what had happened the night before had been bad enough. But breakfast had been enormously worse. She had tried to cover the discoloration of her face with powder. When he had come out to breakfast she had said, “Good morning.”He had merely glanced at her, making no response, feeling a vague shame not only for his own reluctance to respond, but also because of the memory of melodrama, that incredible scene, both passionate and ridiculous. And he knew that he had come perilously close, in his hurt and disappointment, to pulling the trigger. Had he done it, it would have been in the spirit of a child smashing a favorite toy because it had pinched his finger.The half-drunk melodrama of the night before now seemed ludicrous in the hot bright light of the new morning. He had no idea of what to say to her, and so he said nothing.
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