He said to Olver, “It is night, it is cold; have they lost their way out on the hills?”
Olver laughed at him. “Lost? They?”
“They are only human!” cried Calladine, afraid. He got up and stood over Olver. “Tell me, they are human, aren’t they?”
Olver laughed again.
Calladine went to the door. He opened it and looked out; the cold met him, and the stars in the blackness. “Clare!” he cried. “Clare!”
“I am going mad,” he said to himself. “I am going out of my mind.”
Looking back into the hut, he saw Olver still on his knees on the floor, prodding at the meat over the lamp. He went back, bent down, and cried close to Olver’s ear, “What are we doing here? they are keeping us waiting.”
“We don’t count,” replied Olver indifferently.
He began his song again. He had taken his mirror from his pocket, and was squinting into it, at the reflection of the hut; on each beat of the measure, he nodded down towards it.