“Is it contagious?” he asked solicitously.
“Don’t be alarmed. I haven’t it. Not now. I’d love to stay on and on and just ‘breathe and wait,’ if the gods were good.”
"Dream that the gods are good,’” he echoed. “The last thing they ever think of being according to my reading.”
She capped his line;
“We twain, once well in sunder, What will the mad gods do—‘”
she began; then broke off, jumping to her feet. “I’m talking sheer nonsense!” she cried. “Take me for a walk in the woods. The desert glares to-day.”
“I’ll have to be back by twelve,” he said. “Excuse me just a moment.”
He disappeared into the portable house. When he rejoined her, she asked:
“What did you go in there for? To get your revolver?”
“Yes.”