“It is getting cold out here.”
“Oh, don’t let’s go home just yet.”
“So you like being out here?”
“Yes.”
Why had he told her about his writing? Now everything was spoilt. And of course she did not understand. She was lamentably stupid. They had better go home.
“But you will catch a chill.”
“Why should I? We can make each other warm.”
And she pressed closer to him, and she laughed.
She would call that snuggling, he thought. There was a pause.
“John,” she said, pulling his arm, “how silent you are.”