The sounds above his head made Horner blush furiously as he mounted the ladder one slow rung at a time. The wood creaked and Horner froze, but the sounds of love did not abate. Horner could see blacks and grays now, charcoals—but no pale grays and whites of day.
Suddenly, he was in the loft. He stood there, wanting to breathe hard but barely daring to breathe at all. From the sound of their breathing, Caleb and the girl had abandoned themselves completely. Hay crunched underfoot, and Horner froze in his tracks, crouched there. But Caleb and the girl were beyond hearing. He could not see them: he was very glad that this was so. His sense of privacy had already been violated in a shocking fashion, both from their point of view and from his.
They made animal sounds. Blood flooded Horner's face again. The hell with it, he finally decided. They sounded happy enough, at any event. He got down on hands and knees and groped for Caleb's clothing.
With one hand he found the clothing. With the other he struck something warm and slightly yielding. Again, he froze.
"Caleb! How'd you get down there?"
"Down where?"
"My foot."
"I ain't down there."
"Caleb!" The foot explored Horner's arm, his shoulder. The foot drew away as if Horner were flame. "Caleb," the voice was shocked. "Caleb, I think it's somebody."