The girl was shaking as she had shaken back at that church; uttering little shapeless cries from a throat that by turns fluttered and tightened. One clenched hand was fiercely thumping his shoulder. They were on strange land, as if they had the crust of the moon itself beneath their feet. They seemed to know it had been true.
They were sitting on a log in shadow. He rose and stepped into the light, facing his watch to the moon, now gone so high it had paled from gold to silver. He went to her again.
"Do you know it's nearly one?"
"It must be that—I suppose so."
"Shouldn't you be going?"
She leaned forward, shoulders drooping, a huddled bit of black in the loose cloak she wore. He waited. At length she drew her shoulders up with a quick intake of breath. She held this a moment, her chin lifted.
"There, now I've decided," she said.
"What?"
"I'm not going back."