Murt discovered his own stomach was stirring with a prosaic pangful demand of its own. "We should have stopped to eat," he said, realizing they had forgotten lunch.
"Steaks! I have some beauties in my freezer!" Phyllis exclaimed. They peeled off their coats and she led him into the small kitchen. She pointed at the cupboard and silverware drawer. "Set the table. We'll eat in five minutes."
Slipping into an apron, she explored the freezer for meat and French fries, dropped them into the HF cooker and set the timer for 90 seconds. When it clicked off, she was emptying a transparent sack of prepared salad into a bowl.
"Coffee will be ready in 50 seconds, so let's eat," she announced.
For minutes, they ate silently, ravenously, face to face in the little breakfast nook. Murt had forgotten the pure animal pleasure of satisfying a neglected appetite, and so, apparently, had his wife.
Wife! The thought jolted him.
Their eyes met, and he knew that the same thing was in her mind.
The sulfa-tetradine!
With the edge barely off his hunger, he stopped eating. She did, too. They sipped the steaming coffee and looked at each other.