Her fingers rested upon his. In the obscurity in which it was now seen, it looked like a prison, and, indeed, it was Jonathan's fancy to make it resemble one as much as possible. She saw marks in the dirt where he had been pacing. Since the discovery of them, she had been madly eager to read these typewritten tales. Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. She felt him as something solid and strong and trustworthy beyond measure. He removed his cigarette from his lips and waved it gently in the air.
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