Denise still couldn't say no to the drug of Robin. She still wanted Robin's hands on her and at her and around her and inside her, that prepositional smorgasbord. But there was something in Robin, probably her propensity to blame herself for harms that other people inflicted on her, that invited betrayal and abuse. Denise went out of her way to smoke in bed now, because cigarette smoke irritated Robin's eyes. She dressed to the hilt when she met Robin for lunch, she did her best to highlight Robin's dowdiness, and she held the gaze of anyone, female or male, who turned to look at her. She visibly winced at the volume of Robin's voice. She behaved like an adolescent with a parent except that an adolescent couldn't help rolling her eyes whereas Denise's contempt was a deliberate, calculated form of cruelty. She shushed Robin angrily when they were in bed and Robin began to hoot self-consciously. She said, "Keep your voice down. Please. Please." Exhilarated by her own cruelty, she stared at Robin's Gore-Tex raingear until Robin was provoked to ask why. Denise said, "I'm just wondering if you're ever tempted to be slightly less uncool." Robin replied that she was never going to be cool and so she might as well be comfortable. Denise allowed her lip to curl.