"What about Marie and Peter?" asked Joan.
Hedgerly smiled. "True love," he said, "never runs smooth. Peter and Marie are busy playing Gin Rummy now, and both of them agreeing that they'll have none of this. But propinquity—"
The low growl in Graydon's throat stopped him cold. Perhaps his history told him to stop.
The roaring hum of the generator made speech difficult but not impossible. Marie, with pencil in hand, was interestedly recording the data that Peter was calling to her. His lips brushed her ear occasionally because it was necessary to get the figures across through the din. The brush of lip against ear was not unnoticed; under the circumstances it was hard to ignore anything, even the least minute of personalities. Finally he snapped the switch and the roar died.
"That's it!" he said exultantly.
"It's beyond me," said Marie, looking dazedly at the solid bank of figures she'd written down.
"That's because you've never been exposed to the stuff before. Come on—I'll show you."
