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10 Conversation at a Main Line Dinner Table PLACE: Dark but beautifully appointed dining room at Fred and Kate Davis's home. Four couples to dine, all carefully arranged in advance by place cards, all looking much alike. Comments on the present state of affairs in Southeast Asia, on Daniel Ellsberg, the Chicago trials, secrecy in wartime, drugs, how to deal with younger generation. WIFE OF ONE COUPLE: I suppose, Kate, you might prefer us not to talk about it. FRED: No, she doesn't think that. She's very open. It's a test of courage to be that way, I grant you, but I do think it's best. HUSBAND OF ANOTHER COUPLE: And very much to her credit. KATE: Oh, thank you. I do appreciate your understanding. It helps keep me going. DIVORCED OLD FRIEND (MALE): I guess it might be hard for your girl, too. Not to have her baby with her. FRED: It's a little bit of a shock to me, to find myself changing diapers again. Of course, we got a nurse right away. KATE: Oh, I don't mind a bit. It's just a real joy, a baby in the house again. A sweet little thing. FRED: Looks like Kate. Very pretty. (Tops up his wineglass.) Cries. KATE: Oh, no more than normal. DIVORCED OLDFRIEND (FEMALE): But what about your daughter? KATE (confused): We hardly know how to begin. DIVORCED OLD FRIEND (FEMALE): Sorry, I shouldn't have asked. WIFE OF ANOTHER COUPLE: I know what I'd do if one of mine got mixed up in— HER HUSBAND: Now, Rosemary . . . 172 Voices from Afar 173 WIFE OFANOTHER COUPLE: They'd never cross my doorstep again. FRED (covering quickly with a glance at Kate): We haven't taken that attitude. In fact, Mary Kerr can come home whenever she likes. We've made it clear. KATE: Certainly we have. An awkward pause. Maid appears, passing dishes of sliced roast, browned potato balls, french beans. . . . Far away, from upstairs, a door opens, a baby wails. A door closes. Silence. I sat by her crib watching with the greatest affection even a mother could know, but when I reached in to ease her head into a more comfortable position on the white hand-embroidered pillowcase, she turned her head herself and struck at me. It reminded me that Mary Kerr once had bitten me on the side of my hand between the wrist bone and the little finger, and I felt . . . But Fred said, "You're being silly, all babies do nonsense things." Was she striking at me? Why does she cooat the nurse but not at me? ...

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