Gerald’s thoughts raced as he reached out supporting hands and murmured meaningless phrases to soothe. It had felt wonderful to pick up the fiddle again. But Jonathan, fixing a terrible look upon him, cried. He uttered one word over and over, monotonously: "Fool! … Fool!" But invariably the touch of Ruth's hand quieted him, and his head would cease to roll from side to side. " "Company!" echoed Rachel; "at this time of night?" "Company, child," repeated Kneebone. Lights were on and Michelle’s mother was up, occasionally pacing as Michelle and Lucy had been gone for over two hours. Any man might have endeavoured to protect himself in this fashion, a man with no one to care, with an unnameable terror at the thought (as if it mattered!) of being buried in alien earth, far from the familiar places he loved. He has always plenty of evidence in reserve. The door was then locked, and he was left alone. Nothing else matters.
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