They were suddenly and quiveringly themselves again, the panther laid.
"You'll rue this," said Robert, walking back with some uncertainty of
step to his desk, his eyes still slits.
Bruce lifted the box rather tenderly, even with the greeny pallor of his
rage still out and his features straining for composure.
"I'll have it valued and send you a check--"
"Damn you!" With snarl-shaped lips the older brother lunged again, this
time their bodies meeting and swaying for clutch.
"Bruce!"
The use of his given name, the curdled quality to her voice, had their
way. There was a moment of blank staring between the two men, of Bruce
placing the box gently on the desk and walking out without slamming the
door, and Robert sinking down into the swivel chair, trying to bring the
oblique pull of his lips back to straight.
"Get out," he said, without looking at her.
She did, tiptoeing and fighting down the sense of sickness.
And thus, out of a bauble of silver and lapis lazuli, was reared a tower
of silence between these brothers as high as fifteen years is long.
Large affairs for their joint unraveling lay ahead, dramatic in their
magnitude.
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