“I never know where to begin,” he chuckled.
Why could she not at least ask questions? What did they talk of, idle nights? What was Tom’s attitude at home toward David? Tom’s place. Did David feel this?
“First you must even up the roll and the sausage—bite off both ends. Like this.”
“That’s the rule?”
“The rule....” She was like a woman carrying a great load upon her back afraid to ease it, shift it a bit from the sore spot lest it crush her. She was silent.
David ate methodically. He enjoyed eating. The bite of the mustard was good on his tender tongue. He felt Cornelia beside him eating, not knowing she ate. The “hot dog” was gone: he felt in her silence a need of question which aroused his own.
He wanted to know the truth of this strange problem between Tom and his sister. He wanted to know if Cornelia was really somewhat sentimental, somewhat “the old woman.” He wanted to be sure that she was; that Tom was right, loving her, prizing her, putting her in her place. He wanted to be sure that she was not.... He did not want to lose a tithe of his respect for her—and for himself, sitting beside her close and wanting no change....
A pause, with the weight of their questions clear and compact—closing them in. He was beside her coming close. She was open. Could they not be open in this silence, whatever came? A tree, warm air, no one. Could they not stay open, whatever was born?
Cornelia stirred with anguish. She was afraid: she was afraid to look at David: for she was very open. He would pour in through her eyes, if her eyes touched him. All he—into her all. Why not? Her answer was a word of escape.
“——that party, tell me about it——” Escape from herself since already, she knew, David was within her. She could not drive him away. She had no will to. She could escape from herself.