"Yes，" she said.

    "The case is closed，" I said， being， after all， the husband and head of household. My eyes returned to The State v. Perival and Jenny got up. But then she remembered.

    "There's still the matter of the RSVP."

    I said that a Radcliffe music major could probably compose a nice little negative RSVP without professional guidance.

    "Listen， Oliver，" she said， "I've probably lied or cheated in my life. But I've never deliberately hurt anyone. I don't think I could."

    Really， at that moment she was only hurting me， so I asked her politely to handle the RSVP in whatever manner she wished， as long as the essence of the message was that we wouldn't show unless hell froze over. I returned once again to The State v. Percival.

    "What's the number？" I heard her say very softly. She was at the telephone.

    "Can't you just write a note？"

    "In a minute I'll lose my nerve. What's the number？"

    I told her and was instantly immersed in Percival's appeal to the Supreme Court. I was not listening to Jenny. That is， I tried not to. She was in the same room， after all.

    "Oh —— good evening， sir，" I heard her say.

    She had her hand over the mouthpiece.

    "Ollie， does it have to be negative？"

    The nod of my head indicated that it had to be， the wave of my hand indicated that she should hurry up.

    "I'm terribly sorry，" she said into the phone. "I mean， we're terribly sorry， sir…"

    We're！ Did she have to involve me in this？ And why can't she get to the point and hang up？

    "Oliver！"

    She had her hand on the mouthpiece again and was talking very loud.

    "He's wounded， Oliver！ Can you just sit there and let you father bleed？"

    Had she not been in such an emotional state， I could have explained once again that stones do not bleed. But she was very upset. And it was upsetting me too.

    "Oliver，" she pleaded， "could you just say a word？"

    To him？ She must be going out of her mind！

    "I mean， like just maybe 'hello'？" She was offering the phone to me. And trying not to cry.

    "I will never talk to him. Ever，" I said with perfect calm.

    And now she was crying. Nothing audible， but tears pouring down her face. And then she —— she begged.

    "For me， Oliver. I've never asked you for anything. Please."

    Three of us. There of us just standing （I somehow imagined my father being there as well） waiting for something. What？ For me？

    I couldn't do it.

    Didn't Jenny understand she was asking the impossible？ That I would have done absolutely anything else？ As I looked at the floor， shaking my head in adamant refusal and extreme discomfort， Jenny addressed me with a kind of whispered fury I had never heard from her：

    "You are a heartless bastard，' she said. And then she ended the telephone conversation with my father saying：

    "Mr. Barrett， Oliver does want you to know that in his own special way…"

    She paused for breath. She had been sobbing， so it wasn't easy. I was much too astonished to do anything but await the end of my alleged "message."

    "Oliver loves you very much，" she said， and hung up very quickly.

    There is no rational explanation for my actions in the next split second. I must never be forgiven for what I did.

    I ripped the phone from her hand， then from the socket —— and hurled it across the room.

    "God damn you， Jenny！ Why don't you get the hell out of my life！"