“I love your poetry words. Please go on.”
“Why, there isn’t any end to going on. The earth is so beautiful that it makes me cry. When he was on the ocean, I just wouldn’t think about the submarines. I thought about the waters at their priestlike task of pure ablution round earth’s human shores. If he had to be drowned, he would still be drowned in beauty.”
“Yes,” said Marvin, his voice barely breathing. He dared not look up, for he knew that the triumphantly modeled lips were quivering, and the forgetmenot eyes were full of tears.
But presently she laughed them away.
“I don’t know why I am talking like this to a stranger.”
“It’s because he’s been waiting for you.”
“You mustn’t say nice things, Mr. Soldier. But there’s one question that’s harder than any to answer. I never dared ask it of any human being—it sounds so coarse.”
“No question of yours,” said Marvin steadily, “could be coarse.”
“Well, then, do you think that Horatio has the sense of smell?”
“Yes, that is, if he has the other senses. But think how few are the odors that we sense—just the spicy, flowery, fruity, resinous, foul, and scorched.”