"I know how you feel about the apartment, Flora. Well, from now on, you
won't be seeing so much of it--"
"Harry!"
He winced at her clutch on his arm. Her face was pale under the
day-glare strip. "We're not--moving to the country...?"
Harry pried his arm free. "The country? What the devil are you talking
about?" He was frowning now, the pleased look gone. "You should use the
lamps more," he said. "You look sick." He glanced around the apartment,
the four perfectly flat rectangular walls, the glassy surface of the
variglow ceiling, the floor with its pattern of sink-away panels. His
eye fell on the four foot square of the TV screen.
"I'm having that thing taken out tomorrow," he said. The pleased
look was coming back. He cocked an eye at Flora. "And I'm having a
Full-wall installed!"