"Tell it to me, Clark, please."
"Sure." Clark licked his lips and recited his favorite verse into the murky stillness of the room:
"To everything there is a season; and a time to every purpose under the heavens;
"A time to be born and a time to die; a time to plant and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
"A time to love and a time to hate; a time of war and a time of peace...."
"Hmmm," she said lazily, "Where did you get that from?"
"Ecclesiastes."
"Nice." There was a long silence.
"Dianne?" There was no answer. He stood over the bed and saw that she slept. He stood there a long time, just watching her, drinking in her beauty. She was something he couldn't tear his eyes from. He scratched his youthful stubble, and was aware that the candles were low, casting a ruddy glow, deepening the shadows on her face, creasing her ankles and thighs, accenting everything that needed to be accented, and perfectly. Her breasts rose and fell to the even tempo of her breathing. He walked over and blew out the candles, thoughtfully.
Clark stretched out full length on the rough floor of the cave using his hands for pillows, staring straight into the blackness of the ceiling. The ground felt good against his back. He grinned. Something ran through his mind over and over again.