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He
was
playing
,
not
to
win
,
but
to
make
it
harder
for
her
sending
his
shots
wild
to
make
her
run
losing
points
to
see
her
twist
her
body
in
an
agonizing
backhand
standing
still
,
letting
her
think
he
would
miss
,
only
to
let
his
arm
shoot
out
casually
at
the
last
moment
and
send
the
ball
back
with
such
force
that
she
knew
she
would
miss
it
.
She
felt
as
if
she
could
not
move
again
,
not
ever
and
it
was
strange
to
find
herself
landing
suddenly
at
the
other
side
of
the
court
,
smashing
the
ball
in
time
,
smashing
it
as
if
she
wished
it
to
burst
to
pieces
,
as
if
she
wished
it
were
Francisco
s
face
.
Just
once
more
,
she
thought
,
even
if
the
next
one
would
crack
the
bones
of
her
arm
.
.
.
Just
once
more
,
even
if
the
air
which
she
forced
down
in
gasps
past
her
tight
,
swollen
throat
,
would
be
stopped
altogether
.
.
.
Then
she
felt
nothing
,
no
pain
,
no
muscles
,
only
the
thought
that
she
had
to
beat
him
,
to
see
him
exhausted
,
to
see
him
collapse
,
and
then
she
would
be
free
to
die
in
the
next
moment
.
She
won
.
Perhaps
it
was
his
laughing
that
made
him
lose
,
for
once
.
He
walked
to
the
net
,
while
she
stood
still
,
and
threw
his
racket
across
,
at
her
feet
,
as
if
knowing
that
this
was
what
she
wanted
.
He
walked
out
of
the
court
and
fell
down
on
the
grass
of
the
lawn
,
collapsing
,
his
head
on
his
arm
.
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She
approached
him
slowly
.
She
stood
over
him
,
looking
down
at
his
body
stretched
at
her
feet
,
looking
at
his
sweat
-
drenched
shirt
and
the
strands
of
his
hair
spilled
across
his
arm
.
He
raised
his
head
.
His
glance
moved
slowly
up
the
line
of
her
legs
,
to
her
shorts
,
to
her
blouse
,
to
her
eyes
.
It
was
a
mocking
glance
that
seemed
to
see
straight
through
her
clothes
and
through
her
mind
.
And
it
seemed
to
say
that
he
had
won
.
She
sat
at
her
desk
at
Rockdale
,
that
night
,
alone
in
the
old
station
building
,
looking
at
the
sky
in
the
window
.
It
was
the
hour
she
liked
best
,
when
the
top
panes
of
the
window
grew
lighter
,
and
the
rails
of
the
track
outside
became
threads
of
blurred
silver
across
the
lower
panes
.
She
turned
off
her
lamp
and
watched
the
vast
,
soundless
motion
of
light
over
a
motionless
earth
.
Things
stood
still
,
not
a
leaf
trembled
on
the
branches
,
while
the
sky
slowly
lost
its
color
and
became
an
expanse
that
looked
like
a
spread
of
glowing
water
.
Her
telephone
was
silent
at
this
hour
,
almost
as
if
movement
had
stopped
everywhere
along
the
system
.
She
heard
steps
approaching
outside
,
suddenly
,
close
to
the
door
.
Francisco
came
in
.
He
had
never
come
here
before
,
but
she
was
not
astonished
to
see
him
.
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"
What
are
you
doing
up
at
this
hour
?
"
she
asked
.
"
I
didn
t
feel
like
sleeping
.
"
"
How
did
you
get
here
?
I
didn
t
hear
your
car
.
"