When I touched his arm he swung round almost angrily, then took my hand and turned again to look through the window at the ugly little roofs of Horizon.

I glanced up and saw a twitch to his lips. There were lines around his mouth that made him seem spent, almost broken. His hand stayed quick and strong on mine as if he wanted me there - as if he were trying to tell me so.

It was more of him than I had had in weeks, but afraid to be spendthrift with such a moment I slipped away from him again. For when he gives himself to me like that, when we come close to each other, always to follow is a sudden mustering of self-sufficiency, a repudiating swing the other way. He resents his need of me. Somehow it makes him feel weak, a little unmanly. There are times when I think he has never quite forgiven me for being just a woman.