"All right," he consented, curving his mouth around unpleasantly, "just to show you what a jackass you are."
Rene had the heat turned low, for sleeping, and the lights off, as soon as we had eaten and fed the converter. I hydrated a package of crackers so that they were full-sized but not soggy, broke them into pieces and tossed them out.
I admit I felt a little embarrassed.
I sat there in the chill quiet, on this ugly, alien world, reading "The Dodo" by the light of a miniature flash, so as not to disturb Rene.
Pretty soon I began to feel creepy. "The Dodo" is a ghastly poem. There's an insidious morbidity about it. It had sounded merely funny the first time I read it.
Now, the more I read it, the more I began to hear strange, impossible creakings and sighs, which might or might not be due to temperature changes.
The night outside was a deep, cold cup of darkness where no human thing moved.
There was a knock at the door.
I dropped the book and flashlight. Rene was up like a cat. He didn't turn on the light.
"Who's there?" he shouted.