She stretched out on the grass and looked at him a moment.
"Search me," she ventured. "I guess maybe what you need's a Bed."
He guessed she was right.
They went back to the mansion through the twilight, and established themselves in one of the rooms. The soft curtains were drawn, the Bed was large, the sheets were silky and creamy. She reclined on her back, and the mattress moulded itself perfectly to her form.
He lay down beside her, and caressed her. She clasped him tight to her breast. And he was clasped also by an invisible but very palpable field of energy, that directed his movements and charged him with an inexhaustible and ceaseless power. He held her tight, and the force entwined them. They were one throbbing ecstasy, and only at the very last endurable moment were they given release.
Then the Bed slowly soothed them, massaged them, and invigorated them once again. Throughout the night it continued, activity and repose, until toward the dawn he fell into a dead sleep, which lasted until the following morning.
He did not know that he dreamed. He did not consciously remember any of it. He only knew, as he ate his ample breakfast, that he was not so thoroughly at peace as he should have been. And he knew that it was useless to ask the Woman, or one of the Girls.
But the Woman's androids did well by her, it seemed. Maybe he had better go home to Meg.
"What the square, anyhow?" he said to himself. A little more rest in his familiar surroundings, and he would be all right. A Bed always took a lot out of a man. He arose to go.