Whatever edge that had been there was gone. "Go on," hesays. "Try it. You know you want to."Well, no, I think. I don't know that. I don't have anythin... like that.But... My skirt is wrinkled, waistband bites. Blouse disheveled. We arein bed, we may -- I hope we may -- stay there a while. Might as wellget comfortable, as if that crumpling of silk and lace down on thefloor had anything at all to do with being comfortable.I swing legs out of bed. Stand. Not too shaky. Step towards thedresser,. C. was more than ready to board the trainthat would take her home for that long Memorial Day weekend. Dressed in herwork attire, a white ruffled silk blouse, a grey pleated silk skirt that camedown to her knees and black patent leather sandals with a conservative 3? heelM.C. rushed through the station as usual, she had barely found a seat as thetrain pulled slowly out of the station. She was always in a hurry when it came time to catch the train home, and ifnot for this particular habit of hers. More

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