"So did I. If he doesn't finish this thing in a few days, I'll have to
go look for work again."
"Oh. That isn't so good. How am I going to take care of the house and
do Leo's writing for him?"
"I know, but--"
"All right. If it works out, fine. If it doesn't--he must be near the
end by now." She stubbed out her cigarette abruptly and sat up, hands
over the keyboard. "He's getting ready again. See about that coffee,
will you? I'm half dead."
Len poured two cups and carried them in. Moira was still sitting
poised in front of the typewriter, with a curious half-formed
expression on her face.
Abruptly the carriage whipped over, muttered to itself briefly and
thumped the paper up twice. Then it stopped. Moira's eyes got bigger
and rounder.
"What's the matter?" said Len. He looked over her shoulder.
The last line on the page read: