A timid voice said, ‘Oh, don’t go!’
He stood with his lips parted, his damp hair clinging to his forehead where his cap had pressed it, his head bent forward to listen, every nerve tingling.
‘Where are you?’ he asked.
‘Close beside you, here at your right hand.’
‘I don’t see you.’
‘No, you can’t see me now.’
‘Why can’t I see you?’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ the voice sighed.
‘Was that you I saw yesterday on the steps?’
‘Yes, I was watching you plow, and I wanted to speak to you.’