other as peers, giving and taking strength, knowledge and understanding.

From the softness of her gaze, her voice often like a caress, it was obvious that Janice adored Louise. To the undiscerning there was nothing unusual in the relationship, but Marian knew and was happy for them. She noticed the times Janice's fingers brushed Louise's; the slight touch on the arm, the elbow, the shoulder-all acts of love.

Louise remained an enigma, withdrawn yet aggressive, aloof, never fully emerging from a facade of indifference. What little she gave of herself served a greater purpose in keeping their love alive than if she could return it with equal passion.

Marian saw much of herself in each of the younger women; however, she identified closer with Louise. She, like Louise, feared emotional entanglements. She, too, had feared love, always retreating before its force. She knew it was too late for her to change, but seeing Janice and Louise together would evoke a small prayer that somehow, someday they would find peace through each other. In their lives was something she had never dared dream of for herself. It was something like Sue and herself in retrospect trying to act unwritten roles, without direction; an opening that never moved because each declined taking the lead.

Nearly a year had passed, since upon retirement, Marian had moved to New York state to be near her daughter, son-in-law and two grandchildren. She knew now that she had experienced retirement anxieties and panicked at the approach of old age. Her mind was clear, she was in good health, but she had never been lonelier in her life. Back in Ohio were the people she had worked with, her friends and Sue.

Her daughter and son-in-law were kind and considerate. They found her a small house on a neighboring property. The children were engulfed in their own activities. They were pleasant children, but she was disappointed in that she saw so little of them.

For years there had been a standing dinner invitation for Wednesday and Sunday evenings with Sue and Norman. Sue was the only friend of her own age group with whom she could come close to being herself. It was Sue who could pull her out of periods of despondency and make her feel that she was worthwhile and wanted. But there was always Norman. Norman came first with Sue. After his needs and wishes were met, Sue gave of herself that which was left over. There was the summer that Norman insisted he couldn't find time to take a vacation, until after Marian and Sue had made arrangements. Of course, it was Sue's duty to go with Norman. The year he had a slight stroke and continued living as an invalid for months, seldom leaving the house, encouraging Sue to go places with Marian, then at the last minute, stating he was not feeling well. Of course, Sue felt it was her duty to stay with Norman. Marian knew she couldn't compete with Norman. With Sue, Norman came first.

Marian again picked up the book. As she did so she noticed the loose, thinlooking skin of her hands. She rubbed across the left one as though trying to erase its mottled appearance.

The unconventionality of The Subterraneans made her think of her own youth. While in college she had thumbed her nose at the world. Her creative writing instructor told her that she had talent and she knew it was only a matter of time and she would be a great . . . or at least a well known writer. Marian smiled to herself and shook her head understandingly. Yet it saddened her to think of those young people without hope; bi-sexual creatures whose thoughts seldom seemed to rise above their navels. She knew that Janice felt a kinship with them. Not

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