Curt spoke in a subdued voice. "It's hard to get away from Detrick. Always one more experiment to try—"
"—And the brass riding you as if they expected you to win another war for them tomorrow afternoon," said Dell. "I remember."
"We wondered about this truck," Louise commented brightly, trying to change the subject. "We finally gave up on it."
"Oh, that. It brings liquid fertilizer to pump into my irrigation water, that's all. No mystery. Let's go on to the house. After you're settled we can catch up on everything and I'll tell you about the things I'm doing here."
"Who's the man we saw?" asked Curt. "He looks as if his health is pretty precarious."
"That's Brown. He came with the place—farmed it for years for my uncle before I inherited it. He could grow a garden on a granite slab. In spite of appearances, he's well enough physically."
"How has your own health been? You have—changed—since you were at Detrick."
Dell raised a lock of steel-gray hair in his fingers and dismissed the question with a wan smile. "We all wear out sometime," he said. "My turn had to come."
Inside, some of the oppressiveness vanished as the evening passed. It was cool enough for lighting the fireplace, and they settled before it after dinner. While they watched the flickering light that whipped the beamed ceiling, Dell entertained them with stories of his neighbors, whose histories he knew clear back to Revolutionary times.