That was premature, for she only clung the closer. He waited cautiously, every instinct alert, his head close to hers. And at last the hot fragrance of her tears announced the beginning of the end.
"Shiela?"
A stifled sound from his shoulder where her head lay buried.
"Choose now," he said.
No answer.
"Choose."
She cowered in his arms. He looked at the little hand once more, no longer limp but clenched against his breast. And he knew that the end was close at hand, and he spoke again, forcing her to her victory.
"Dearest, you must choose—"
"Garry!"
"Between those others—and me—"