“He would be alive now.” Fosca heard his own groan and sat up. Would he? But Fosca took back the cry he had uttered out of his own grief. One cannot wish the people one loves to be other than they are. An Edward not torn to pieces, an Edward concerned only with literature, would seem a monster.

But standing was not the thing, and he sat down again heavily. The room which had seemed so friendly a moment before, now loomed about him, full of enemies. These objects that do not run down, he thought, glancing again at the self-satisfied penguin in its eternal snow, become our enemies. It was queer the desire he felt to go and smash the penguin.

V

V

Damon and Julia had been sitting now for half an hour in the waiting room at the airport, unable to relax for a moment as every few seconds a loud voice on the public address system told them that the Paris flight was now ready and would passengers please assemble, or that there would be a short delay for Chicago. Each time this happened they stopped talking and wondered tensely if this time the announcement would be that Edward’s sister, who was rushing toward them through the air between New York and Boston, was finally about to land.

“Sit down, Damon,” Julia said irritably, as once more they were disappointed. “You’ll wear yourself out.”

“I’m worn out,” he answered. “This is the last straw.”

“I don’t suppose she’s exactly looking forward to this either, poor woman.”

“Edward despised her,” Damon said impatiently, rubbing his face with his hands as if to rub out the fatigue. “You remember his acid descriptions of the house, the high fidelity atmosphere, and her smug husband, the perfect picture of middle-class indifference and selfishness, both of them.”

Julia sighed. There was no point in arguing with Damon when he was in this contrary mood. Better save one’s strength. She concentrated instead on watching the minute hand of the clock on the wall inching its way towards half-past ten. With every second of waiting she felt a greater longing to be anywhere but here, in this brightly lit limbo, waiting for Edward’s sister, that poor woman who would find no mercy here. “We are pitiless, you know,” she said.