58 \"Why will you not touch me?\" She cried out, sitting up, her head in her hands. Only her ungloved fingers, and the arms in their long tight sleeves as she held the heavy gun aloft, bore any sign of stiffness. She never had been much of a looker, but she had stopped worrying about such things long ago. His hand shook so violently that he dropped the handkerchief; and he let it lie on the floor because he dared not stoop. Even on cool days the gardens were colorful and bright, with orange trees emanating sweetness and bumblebees drunkenly weaving from flower to flower. Taber and no one comment upon it.
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