Зима тревоги нашей

           "Areyouworriedaboutsomething?"

           "Whatathought.You’redreamingbeforeyou’reasleep."

           "You’reworkingsohardtomakemehappy.Ican’tgetpastintoyou.Areyouworried?"

           Astrangeandseeingtime,thefrontstepsofsleep.

           "Yes,I’mworried.Doesthatreassureyou?Iwouldn’twantyoutorepeatit,buttheskyisfallingandapieceofitfellonmytail."

           ShehaddriftedsweetlyoffwithherPanicsmile.Islippedmyarmfreeandstoodbetweenthebeds.Therainwasoverexceptforroofdrip,andthequarter-moonglisteneditsimageinabilliondroplets."Beauxrêves,mydearlingdear.Don’tlettheskyfallonus!"

           MybedwascoolandoversoftbutIcouldseethesharpmoondrivingthroughthesea-fleeingclouds.AndIheardtheghost-cryofabittern.Icrossedthefingersofbothhands—King’sXforalittlewhile.DoubleKing’sX.Itwasonlyapeathatfellonmytail.

           Ifthedawncameupwithanythunder,Ididn’thearit.AllgoldengreenitwaswhenIcametoit,darkofheatherandpalewithfernandyellowyredwithwetdunesand,andnotfarawaytheAtlanticglitteringlikehammeredsilver.Atwistedgafferoakbesideourhousehadputoutnearitsrootalichenbigasapillow,aridge-wavedthingofgraypearlywhite.Acurvinggraveledpathledamongthesmalltownshipofdollhousestotheshingledbungalowthathadspawnedthemall.Herewereoffice,postcards,gifts,stamps,andalsodiningroomwithblue-checkeredtableclothswherewedollscoulddine.