And when he wasn't holed up in there, he was
constantly reading about big computers and the latest
technologies, his face often closer to the pages of a book than
to his wife's face when they were in bed.
After tomorrow, after Peter was truly invalidated, she knew that
Matthew would start spending more time with her. She had to
believe that. After all, it was she he had to thank for
rectifying his temporary shortsightedness. At least that was how
she saw things.
Raising a glass of wine to her lips, she heard the automatic
garage door open. He was home. She twisted the knob of the
recessed ceiling-mounted quartz lamp to full intensity. The
salmon bowl sparkled.
He appeared at the living room entrance, hands at his sides. She
pretended not to notice his arrival.
"Greta."
"Oh, darling," Greta said, pretending to be surprised.
Without remark, she quickly took in his tired expression. His
eyes seemed half closed, as if the reflection thrown off by the
glittering object were blinding. Studying him, she searched for
the foundation of the man she had married, the man with the
strong and sinewy build, the confident posture, the sharp
aristocratic features. Today his cheeks appeared blanched, his
stance tentative. With her glass of wine in hand, she strolled
casually across the room.
"What's that?" Matthew said.
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