Slowly, Clyde's eyes focused on her. He smiled. "Let's try it."
He let Beryl feed him, sitting on a stool beside his chair and being unnecessarily motherly and coddling about it.
For a while after he had eaten, Clyde sat in his chair, looking at Beryl with his new and oddly gentle smile. It seemed to activate some hidden response in her, for she glowed with tenderness.
"I suppose," Curtis slurred, "I ought to try to walk now."
"Let me help." Stern rose and crossed the room.
The Martian rustled like snakes in the weeds, and hissed.
Beryl said without suspicion, "Thank you, Al. I knew you'd do whatever you could for Clyde." And she rested her hand trustingly on his arm.
What was past was past, not to be wept over, not to be regretted.
"Like to walk out in the back for the air?" Stern asked. "The breeze is coming from that direction."
"That will do very well," said Curtis, obviously not caring a bit.