They walked across a moat of pea gravel that crunched like noisy cereal under their feet. The slight smile that played upon Winifred's lips seemed to say that she was not quite so sure. She attempted by a sheer act of will to end the scene, to will herself out of it anywhere. The little streaks upon the germinating area of an egg, the nervous movements of an impatient horse, the trick of a calculating boy, the senses of a fish, the fungus at the root of a garden flower, and the slime upon a sea-wet rock—ten thousand such things bear their witness and are illuminated. It was a dead calm.
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