Once more he lapses into silence. Once more she lays her hand upon his chest, and moves him slightly to and fro, as a cat might stimulate a half-slain mouse. Once more he speaks, as if she had spoken.
Sleeping it off
“What? I told you so. When it comes to be real at last, it is so short that it seems unreal for the first time. Hark!”
“Yes, deary. I’m listening.”
“Time and place are both at hand.”
He is on his feet, speaking in a whisper, and as if in the dark.
“Time, place, and fellow-traveller,” she suggests, adopting his tone, and holding him softly by the arm.
“How could the time be at hand unless the fellow-traveller was? Hush! The journey’s made. It’s over.”
“So soon?”