thing you can live with. He must tell her why he was terrified. He must tell her quickly. These were the last moments they would have together before . . . already the colour of the light had changed. Here, on the side of the house away from the water, there was a darkening sparkle in the air.
Her feet were ominously still. She must be thinking, and this always worried him. Suppose she too became aware of this secret insolubility of life? It was only her divine certainty about little things that kept him going. What business have biological units thinking about things? Let them obey their laws and not question.
Shifting the weight of the spring to his shoulder he turned over and put his head out from under the foot of the bed.
"Phyl," he said, "why don't you go and lie down a bit, have a rest before the folks get here."
She looked down at him. Even in the warm listless dream that seemed to have mastered her, she was touched by the foolish appeal in his red, dust-streaked face. Where the light caught the turn of his jaw shone a coppery stubble.
"You need a shave," she said; and then regretted her insistent tidying instinct. She was holding three large shabby dolls, unconsciously
