The chill of the November night air was beginning to penetrate her shawl and Alice could feel a stirring of air on her legs. Dobie moved restlessly at her side but she did not let go of his neck hair for fear of what he might do.
"We need that hand, Mrs. McNearby. Without it the man who lost it will be at a tragic disadvantage among us. That is why we were looking so hard for it this morning after the crash. If we can return the hand to him in time it can, through proper treatment, be made as good as new. Would you be so good as to return it to me, now, please?"
The eyes, though tiny, seemed not unkind, and the alien stood silent. She was moved by his pleas.
"Mac—that's my husband—has it," Alice said. "I saw Dobie here with it and put it under a milk pail and when Mac saw it he said he'd take care of it." She hoped she was making sense.
"Do you know where it is?"
"I don't know where Mac put it."
"Would you find it for me, please? I'll wait."
lice agreed and, wondering what Mac would say if he came home and found the hand gone, started looking for it. But surely Mac would understand about the hand, she thought. I'll explain to him the urgency of it, that one of the aliens needs it to live and be useful.