She made a rather intriguing picture there, in the pale dawn light, since she was wearing only the white silk shirt that, somehow, we’d never got around to taking off her. It had been an impromptu come-as-you-are kind of performance, as love scenes go. I couldn’t help noting, as I crossed the room, that the improvised nightshirt wasn’t quite as long as it would have been, had it been designed for a sleeping garment in the first place. “Well, I’ll get in touch with you in Brandon,” I said, businesslike. I wasn’t quite sure what our relationship was supposed to be now. Elaine turned from the window to face me. After a moment she drew the rumpled shirt together in front and started to button it, more from a sense of tidiness, I gathered, than from any real feeling of modesty. There was, after all, no further reason for us to be modest with each other. She gave me a funny, wry smile. “I suppose you think I’m a cheap little tramp,” she said. I said, “A man can’t win around here.
