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They think I’m going to order that lumber again and pay the price it costs now. They think I’ll do that. They think I’d fall for that kind of nonsense. It’s disappointing, Agnes. What they don’t know is I’m the kind of man who won’t argue with them. Once I’m disgusted with a thing, I just don’t fool with it anymore. So if I don’t hear from them by midweek, I’ll just go over to Grundy’s, even if I have to pay more. That’s just the kind of person I am. And I’ll bet you that for a couple of months Andy won’t even realize I’m not doing business with them anymore.”
    Finally they closed up downstairs and went to bed, and Agnes pretended an enthusiasm for the prospect of making love that she no longer had, although she felt perfectly amiable toward Will in the shadowy, snow-lit bedroom. And eventually she lost track of her initial indifference and fell into a loosening of concentration on anything other than his and her own physical selves. She fell asleep not long after he did, comfortable alongside him, and for the most part untroubled.
    She woke up gradually when daylight only illuminated the rectangles of the windows behind their drawn shades and frilled curtains, and she watched drowsily as the various objects in the room regained their angles, were clarified for another day. Eventually, in a moment she failed to note, the floor, the braided rug, the chair where Will had neatly draped his clothes, her dressing table with its tall oval mirror, were marked by the faint tic-tac-toe shadow of the window mullions. If just once she caught that instant . . . But today she found herself oddly pleased that again that tiny flick of time had eluded her. It was a bit of magic thinking she indulged in every morning; if she ever observed that exact instant when the shadows materialized, then everything good she might have hoped for would come to pass; if she failed to catch it once again, she could only expect the unexpected. She decided this morning, though, that her failure to note the moment might augur nice surprises in spite of everything—the war, her finances, the empty house.
    Not wanting to wake Will, she pulled on her robe and hurried downstairs to the basement in the morning chill and stoked the furnace, since Howard wasn’t at home to do it. It wasn’t a particularly difficult task, but it was a dirty one, and Agnes was always uneasy in the dank basement, where a large black snake resided, according to Howard, although she thought surely it must hibernate in the winter. Howard had also said that the snake was shy and harmless, and was a good sign that they wouldn’t be bothered with mice, but Agnes had been unable to persuade herself that she was glad it was there. In fact, she hastily clinkered the grate and shoveled in coal and decided it was worth paying the Drummonds’ grandson, from across the square, to come in early and tend to the job before he was off to school. By the time she reached the upper landing of the second floor on her way back upstairs, she heard the thud and whoof of the heat coming up. She kicked off her slippers and stood barefoot on the hall grate in the warm rush of air. Her whole body, which had tensed against the cold, began to relax, and she stayed where she was until the soles of her feet became so hot that she had to step on and off the brass vent.
    Will was still sound asleep, but he had turned and stretched and was splayed across the entire bed, and she didn’t want to disturb him. With all the children gone, the night before was the first time she and Will had slept overnight in her bed. Anyone seeing him leave this morning would not have seen him arrive last night, and they would only think he had been in town early on some errand or other. It seemed to Agnes that his staying over was an intimacy greater than merely making love. In fact, she felt constrained somehow when she considered this development, and uncertain whether or not it was something that she