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 to make room for the ever-ceremonious opening of the couch. When the chairs had been grouped about in a perfectly suitable manner, Edna gathered her sheets and pillows together so that all would be in readiness.

"Look out," she said to Dot. Then, presto, the couch was a bed large enough for two. Edna could ill conceal the pleasure she felt at having played so important a part in this startling exhibition of modern magic.

"I wouldn't be without one of these sliding couches," she said, trying to make her voice sound casual.

"I could stand you being without one tonight," said Dot. "I bet I don't close my eyes."

"Well, if you insist on talking once I've said good night, I'll close them for you," Edna warned her. "Now hop out of your clothes and sleep your last time away from Eddie."

Dot undressed leisurely. Edna watched her from the bed and kept up a rapid flow of disgusted comments.

"Say, are you dying? Come on. You don't have to sew that ribbon now. Turn out the light, will you? I'm sleepy. Listen, Dot, tomorrow you'll be dying for another hour's sleep, and once my kid is up, your morning's rest is just naturally finished. Come on, will you?"

"I'll turn out the light, Edna, but I don't think I'll get in for a while."

"What are you going to do? Sit by the window and commune with yourself? Come on."

And in the end Dot climbed into bed and was asleep an hour before Edna.

The new day began with Floyd Driggs yanking impishly at Dot's hair. He was a solemn-eyed child, strangely unsmiling and incongruously mischievous. There was something vaguely Japanese in the small, wise face.

"Wake up, Dottie, wake up. You gotta be married. Who you gonna marry?"