"But in the months before us——"
"No."
She picked up a book. When he reached for a magazine she looked over the top of her book at him, then read a little, glanced up, read a little more, and looked at him again.
"Duane?"
"What?"
"This is a fool of a book. Do you want to read it?"
"No, thanks."
"Over my shoulder, I mean?"
He got up, seated himself on the arm of her chair, and looked at the printed page over her shoulder.
For a full minute neither moved; then she turned her head, very slowly, and, looking into his eyes, she rested her lips on his.