dark and blind. Kate tiptoed to the door of her room once or twice, but Joe lay motionless, and at last she sent Effa home. The street was empty; the world was empty. Her nerves were quivering; she was caught in the stillness as if she were caught in the water at the edge of a great waterfall, sliding glass-smooth toward plunging chaos.
Thunder spoke far away, drew nearer. Then rain fell loudly, beating the leaves, drumming on the roof. The white glare of lightning showed a writhing world; the thunder crackled lightly. That means it's near, Kate thought.
Joe opened his eyes. He was cool and clean; his head was steady. It had been months since he had slept so. Night after night he had read in bed until his head was swimming and his eyes smarting, to keep away thoughts that came with the dark. But now that he could no longer say, "Perhaps—some day" he was like a drowning man who, fighting the sea a long time, at last gives up.
"Joe? Are you awake?"
"Yes, just."
"Don't tell me you slept through that storm! Here's a candle; the lights are all out. Aren't you hungry? It's after nine o'clock."
They spoke to each other quietly now and then as they ate their supper—quivering jellied soup, a big bowl of chicken salad, a frosty pitcher of iced coffee,
