"I CAN'T STAND HIM," Anne told me as we were getting ready for bed that night. "He's loathsome. He's got that poor woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown."

I pulled off my second sock and dropped it into my shoe.

"I know," I said.

"All she wants is a baby," Anne said. "God! You'd think she was asking for the moon! She doesn't ask a thing of him; not a thing. He doesn't help her with anything! He goes out by himself whenever he damn well pleases. He begrudges her every cent she spends no matter how carefully she budgets. He yells at her and abuses her. I've seen black and blue marks on that girl- bad ones." She slung the hanger over the closet bar. "And she doesn't say a thing," she said. "All she wants is a baby.

Seven years of marriage and that's all she asks. And him..."

"Maybe that's her trouble," I said. "She lets him get away with too much."

"What can she do?" Anne asked, sitting down at her dressing table and picking up her brush.

"Leave him?" I suggested.

"Where would she go?" she asked, brushing with short, angry strokes. "She hasn't a friend in the world. Both her parents have been dead for nine years. If you and I ever broke up, I, at least, could go home to my mother and father for a while to get over it. Elizabeth hasn't a place in the world to go. That's her home over there. And that-pig is making it a hell."

I sighed. "I know," I said. I lay back on the bed. "I wonder, does she really know he's having an affair with-?"

I stopped. I could tell from the way her head had snapped around what the answer was.

"He's what?" she asked, slowly.

We looked at each other a moment. She turned away.

"That's fine," she said in that falsely calm voice a woman manages to achieve when she is at the height of her fury. "That's just fine. That really ices the cake. That really does." I smiled without amusement.

"So she doesn't know," I said. "He said she did."

"Oh, he's-he's a... there isn't any word bad enough." I shook my head slowly.

"That's a real nice situation there," I said. "I feel like a soap-opera character living in this house. On one side we have a wife who kicks the guts out of her husband. On the other side we have an adulterer and a drudge." I got under the covers. "I wouldn't tell her if I were you."

"Tell her?" Anne said. "Good God, I wouldn't dare. If anything could snap her right down the middle, that'd be it."

She shivered.

"Tell her. Oh... God, not me. I shudder to think what'll happen if she finds out."

"She won't," I said.

We were quiet a while. I lay there looking at the ceiling, wondering if I was going to have that dream again-mentally feeling around the house; as if my thoughts were insect antennae quivering, searching timidly, ready to recoil in an instant at the slightest touch of anything.

But there was nothing. I began to think that maybe the keyed-up state Phil had left me in really was fading; that I was, already, below the level of awareness, and now it would keep sinking until I was as I had been before. Frankly, it made me feel a little disappointed. It was an intriguing capacity. I found myself almost straining to revitalize it in myself. Of course it didn't work. It wasn't voluntary. A few minutes later, Anne got in bed beside me and we turned out the lights.

"You-think you're going to dream tonight?" she asked.

"I don't know," I said. "I don't think so, though."

"Maybe it's gone."

"Could be."

Silence a while.

"Honey?" she said then.

"Yes?"

I heard her swallowing.

"About..."

"About last night?" I asked.

"Yes. I-I'm sorry I let myself get out of hand."

"It's nothing to be sorry about, honey."

"Yes, it is," she said. "It's pointless to think about such things just because of-what's happened."

"I guess," I said. I rolled onto my side and put my arm over her.

"You-promise we-"

"All right," I said, "we won't talk about it."

"I-just don't think it's-sensible," she said.

"I suppose not," I said.

She kissed my cheek. "Good night, honey," she said.

"Good night," I said. On the bedside table, the radium-faced clock read eleven-thirty.

"No!"

I wrenched up from the mattress, awareness razoring in my mind. My eyes were wide open, stiffly set. I stared toward the living room.

Anne had jolted awake with me. I heard her now, her voice shaking.

"Again?" she asked.

"Yes. Y-es."

"Oh... no. No"." She sounded almost angry.

We sat there a few moments. I could feel my chest rising and falling with fitful motion, the breath gushing out through my nostrils. My lips were sealed together, my heart thudded harshly, off-time.

"What are you going to do?" she asked. There was a scared, embittered challenge in her voice.

"What-can I do?"

She drew in a rasping breath.

"Get up and see."

I twisted around. "Honey, what is it?"

"What is it? What kind of question is that? You know what it is. Now get up-" A sobbing broke her voice. "Get up and go in there."

Breath shuddered in me. I felt myself shaking helplessly. Every time I thought about the woman she seemed to flare into strengthened clarity in my mind - white-faced and staring, her dark eyes asking for something.

I caught my breath.

"All right," I said. I don't know if I was talking to Anne or to the woman. "All right." I snapped aside the covers and dropped my legs over the side of the bed.

"Honey." The anger was suddenly gone from her voice. Only concerned fear remained.

"What?" I asked.

"I... I'll go with you."

I swallowed dryly. "You stay," I said.

"No, I-I want to. I want to."

I rubbed a shaking hand over my face and drew away cold sweat. I knew I should make her stay.

"All right," I heard myself saying. "Come on then." I heard the liquid rustle of her nightgown as she got up. I saw the dark outline of her figure against the window. I stood and we came together at the foot of the bed. I felt her hand clutch at mine and I grabbed it tightly. It was cold and dry; it trembled in my grip.

I took a deep breath and tried to stop the shaking of my stomach muscles. They were tight and cramped again. I felt that hot, needling pulse at my temples.

"All right," I said. "Come on."

Did ever two people stalk the darkness more slowly? We moved as if our legs were lead, as if we were statues come only half alive. We edged to the door in whispers of movement; and all the time my heart kept beating faster and faster and I thought I could almost hear the beat of it. My hand shook now too. It was no comforting strength to her. How can there be comfort from a frightened man?

We reached the hall and stopped as if by mutual consent. Between us and the living room was a door. We stood there shivering in the darkness; then jolted with shock as, in the other bedroom, Richard stirred a little. Then I heard Anne's voice, barely audible.

"Open it" she said.

I set myself. I gripped her hand until I'm sure it must have hurt her.

Abruptly, I kicked open the door.

We both recoiled automatically, braced for the worst.

Then it all seemed to drain away with a sudden recession. Our hands fell apart. We walked into the empty living room. The tingling in my head was fading, the knots untying in my stomach.

I saw Anne lean against the wall.

"You bastard," she said clearly and there was only amused relief in her shaky voice. "Oh, you double-dyed bastard."

I swallowed.

"Honey, I... thought she was in here."

"Sure you did, ducky," she said. "Sure you did." Her hand patted me and I felt how it shook. She took a deep breath.

"Well," she said, "shall we retire?" I knew from the sound of her voice that she would have screamed her lungs out if we'd seen anything.

"In a moment," I said.

She went back to bed. I heard her climb under the covers and heard her say, "Come on, Madame Wallace."

"Right away."

I went to bed and lay quietly beside her. I didn't tell her about the cold, damp breeze that had passed over me as I'd turned from the living room.