We filled our first baskets without moving more than a few yards. “At this rate we’ll have them all full by noon.”
“And go back for more?”
“I suppose. Or just wander around.”
“Oh.... Look, Hodge—what’s this?” “What?”
“This.” She showed me the puffball in her hands, looking inquiringly up.
I looked down casually; suddenly there was nothing casual between us any more, nor ever would be again. I looked down at a woman I wanted desperately, feverishly, immediately. The shock of desire was a weight on my chest, expelling the air from my lungs.
“Goodness—is it some rare specimen or something?” “Puffball,” I managed to say. “No good.”
I hardly spoke, I could hardly speak, as we filled our second baskets. I was sure the pounding of my heart must show through my shirt, and several times I thought I saw her looking curiously at me. “Let’s eat now,” I suggested hoarsely.
I found a pine with low-hanging boughs and tore down enough to make a dry, soft place to sit while Catty unpacked our picnic. “Here’s an egg,” she said; “I’m starved.”
We ate; that is, she ate and I pretended to. I was half dazed, half terrified. I watched her swift motions, the turn of her head, the clean, sharp way she bit into the food, and averted my eyes every time her glance crossed mine.