There has never been anything quite as soul-satisfying, quite as filled with the promise of life as the smell of coffee out in the open when the fresh air has done its work, and you realize that you’re ravenously hungry.
Helen Framley came up out of her blankets, to stand slim and graceful. The golden rays of the early-morning sun touched the youthful lines of her figure with reddish orange. She glanced at me, saw I was looking up at her, and said naturally, “ ’Lo, Donald.”
“ ’Lo,” I said.
Louie turned around at the sound of her voice, then whirled back to bend over the stove.
There was quiet amusement in her eyes. “Hello, Louie,” she called.
“Hello,” he called back over his shoulder.
She finished her dressing, and said, “I could go for this in a big way. I wonder why someone didn’t invent it sooner.”
“It’s been here longer than we have,” I remarked.
She stood facing the east, the sun illuminating her features. Abruptly, she flung out her arms toward the sun in an impulsive gesture, then turned, sat down, and slipped on her shoes.
Louie said, “Half a basin of water apiece, and that’s all, and breakfast’ll be ready in five minutes.”