He had enjoyed the market yesterday until he had noticed that there were no children about. No children at all. Only adult primitives and a few well-trained functionaries like Mrs. Tilton.
In the sky in the window he saw a rocket cutting a thin line as it left the atmosphere.
"I'll have your bed ready for your noon nap," she said.
He turned from the window. "Noon?"
"You'll want a nice restful nap then."
He had imagined the poisoned coffee would work faster. His heart beating, he said, "Those are peas, aren't they?"
She nodded. Her hands were busy shelling. "I hung your cane on the coat rack," she said.
"If you don't mind, Mrs. Tilton, I'd rather not go out today. I'd very much like to try shelling peas for you."
"Why, of course. Pull up that chair, why don't you?"