Daniel pulled at the hair curling into the back of his neck. "Anything she can think of," he said, looking everywhere but at her. Finally he gave in standing, and sat--collapsed--onto the edge of the couch. He flicked a nervous glance toward the kitchen table, where the laptop sat, and when his eyes came back, he caught her questioning glance. The volumes in the living room had no particular emotional weight; he waved a hand at them, vacantly. She could look if she wanted. She would anyway, he assumed, erroneous though it might have been.