She was trying by some wonderful, secret, and motionless gymnastics to restrain her tears. He haunted a state between hectic dreaming and mild delirium, and she found herself talking aloud to him. What was he doing? What was he thinking? It was less than a day now, less than twenty hours. . She showered after she heard the door shut and the cars pull out of the driveway. “Can we watch television?” She asked. "Who knows but this key may open a golden lock one of these days?" And, picking it up, he thrust it into his pocket. For awhile he watched the revolving light on Copeley's. And he did not lack courage. She set her fingers in the hair and tugged, drawing him to a sitting posture and stooping so that her eyes would be on the level with his when he awoke. "What did you do?" he asked, in a broken voice. He was disquieted.
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