"You all right?" he asked.
She was an expert at lip reading from ten years of apprenticeship at Seashell ear-thimbles. She nodded again. She set the toaster clicking away at another piece of bread.
Montag sat down.
His wife said, "I don't know why I should be so hungry."
"You--"
"I'm hungry."
"Last night," he began.
"Didn't sleep well. Feel terrible," she said. "God, I'm hungry. I can't figure it."
"Last night--" he said again.
She watched his lips casually. "What about last night?"
"Don't you remember?"
"What? Did we have a wild party or something? Feel like I've a hangover. God, I'm hungry. Who was here?"
"A few people," he said.
"That's what I thought." She chewed her toast. "Sore stomach, but I'm hungry as all get-out. Hope I didn't do anything foolish at the party."
"No," he said, quietly.
The toaster spidered out a piece of buttered bread for him. He held it in his hand, feeling obligated.
"You don't look so hot yourself," said his wife.
In the late aftenoon it rained and the entire world was dark gray. He stood in the hall of his house, putting on his badge with the orange salamander burning across it. He stood looking up at the air-conditioning vent in the hall for a long time. His wife in the TV parlor paused long enough from reading her script to glance up. "Hey," she said. "The man's thinking!"
"Yes," he said. "I wanted to talk to you." He paused. "You took all the pills in your bottle last night."
"Oh, I wouldn't do that," she said, surprised.
"The bottle was empty."
"I wouldn't do a thing like that. Why would I do a thing like that?" she said.
"Maybe you took two pills and forgot and took two more, and forgot again and took two more, and were so dopey you kept right on until you had thirty or forty of them in you."
"Heck," she said, "what would I want to go and do a silly thing like that for?"
"I don't know," he said.
She was quite obviously waiting for him to go. "I didn't do that," she said. "Never in a billion years."
"All right if you say so," he said.
"That's what the lady said." She turned back to her script.
"What's on this afternoon?" he asked, tiredly.
She didn't look up from the script again. "Well, this is a play comes on the wall-to-wall circuit in ten minutes.