I seated Olivia at a corner table, acting as if we’d just happened to meet in the doorway by accident. She was wearing a dress this morning, I noticed. It wasn’t much to cheer about; one of the fashionably loose, baggy, blousy jobs that look very smart on a model built like a broomstick, which she wasn’t. It was some kind of brownish jersey. They tell me that knitted stuff is very practical for traveling. I’m glad to hear it’s good for something. Decoration-wise, it always looks like a variation of burlap to me. Still, it was a dress and it wasn’t tweed. There were other changes. “For God’s sake,” I said. “What is it... Oh.” She blushed a little and looked self-conscious. It was pink and innocuous, but it was real lipstick. Pretty soon she’d break down and powder her nose and everything. It gave me a funny feeling. I mean, after all, it was just a job for me. I didn’t really want the responsibility of guiding the woman to a new view of life. I’d had enough of personal feelings on this job.
