"Which is worse than death!"
The light was gone upon the screen. Her voice, sleepy, came to him once more. "Are you sure of that? Are you so certain that death will not be this way?"
And he was not certain. Nothing now seemed certain. Nothing had reality. But soon, re-echoing Nedra's words, he would not care. He would not care!
Days passed. At least the glow would come again upon the screen and Nedra would be there, talking to him as though they were together in that exquisite room, smiling or laughing at the child upon the floor, angry when O'Hara's frustrated calls awakened it, scolding. Or whispering through the darkness on the screen.
"Nedra, Nedra—"
"What is it, O'Hara?"
"Where are you in that darkness? Let me hear your voice. Speak to me, Nedra!"
"But I am here."
"Yes, you are there, wherever that may be, and I am here, in this enormous room of books, entombed in centuries of written facts while you—you cannot see, but now I touch this screen, my hands are feeling for you in that dark, toward the whisper of your voice. And touch cold metal! Nedra—"
"Yes, O'Hara."