Mr. Scott had spoken more words to me since dinner began than Cynthia hadsaid to me since I picked them up. She may simply have been morecomfortable a...out accepting service from someone than Mr. Scott. To himservice was a monetary transaction. To me it was a gift from the heart,freely given out of love or admiration, or simply recognition ofsuperiority. The best service I was capable of, however, was given out oflove."Yes, sir," was all I said. The evening was drawing to a close, at least for. Finally after a couple of tries she stood braced against me but went into the living room instead. “Get me some water or something” she said flopping on the couch and again tried to light a cigarette. This time she almost burned her eyebrows off with the flame. “Fuck it” I thought and found a plate for an ashtray and got her a glass of water. When I got in the room she was passed out, the cigarette almost had fallen on the carpet. Her legs were wide open head fallen back snoring. I tried. More

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