mind cleared. The ceiling became a
surface of dirty, cracked plaster and there was a feeling of dirt and
squalor in her mind.

It was always like that at these times of awakening, but doubly bitter
now, because she had never expected to awaken again. She reached down
and pulled the wadded sheet from beneath her legs and spread it over
them. She looked at the bottle on the shabby bed-table. There were three
sleeping pills left in it. The girl's eyes clouded with resentment.
You'd think seven pills would have done it. She reached down and took
the sheet in both hands and drew it taut over her stomach. This was a
gesture of frustration. Seven hadn't been enough, and here she was
again--awake in the world she'd wanted to leave. Awake with the
necessary edge of determination gone.

She pulled the sheet into a wad and threw it at the wall. She got up and
walked to the window and looked out. Bright daylight. She wondered how
long she had slept. A long time, no doubt.

Her naked thigh pressed against the windowsill and her bare stomach
touched the dirty pane. Naked in the window, but it didn't matter,
because it gave onto an airshaft and other windows so caked with grime
as to be of no value as windows.

But even aside from that, it didn't matter. It didn't matter in the
least.

She went to the washstand, her bare feet making no sound on the worn
rug. She turned on the faucets, but no water came. No water, and she had
a terrible thirst. She went to the door and had thrown the bolt before
she remembered again that she was naked. She turned back and saw the
half-empty Pepsi-Cola bottle on the floor beside the bed table. Someone
else had left it there--how many nights ago?--but she drank it anyhow,
and even though it was flat and warm it soothed her throat.

She bent over to pick up garments from the floor and dizziness came,
forcing her to the edge of the bed. After a while it passed and she got
her legs into one of the garments and pulled it on.

Taking cosmetics from her bag, she went again to the washstand and tried
the taps. Still no water. She combed her hair, jerking the comb through
the mats and gnarls with a satisfying viciousness. When the hair fell
into its natural, blond curls, she applied powder and lip-stick. She
went back to the bed, picked up her brassiere and began putting it on as
she walked to the cracked, full-length mirror in the closet door. With
the brassiere in place, she stood looking at her slim