"I can say a lot of things." He looked at the door, then at Helen. "You coming?"
"I'm going to sit for a minute," Helen said. "You go. Don't call Pruitt from the parking garage. Drive first. If you call from the garage you'll do it in the voice you use when you've already decided you're the injured party."
He stared at her. For a moment it might have gone either way, the old slam or the old obedience. He buttoned nothing. He left. The door did not slam; the pneumatic hinge would not allow it, and the denial of the slam seemed to make him angrier in the hall, where they heard his shoes and then did not.
Helen stayed in her chair. Lydia stayed on her feet. Penrose gathered the envelope and aligned it with the folder, a small neatness that was also a kindness, a way of saying the meeting could end without a victor.