He looked at her and saw her
crying.
"Listen," he said. "Do you
think that it is fun to do this? I
don't know why I'm doing it.
It's trying to kill to keep
yourself alive, I imagine. I was
all right when we started
talking. I didn't mean to start
this, and now I'm crazy as a
coot and being as cruel to you
as I can be. Don't pay any
attention, darling, to what I
say. I love you, really. You
know I love you. I've never
loved any one else the way I
love you."
He slipped into the familiar lie
he made his bread and butter
by.
"You're sweet to me."
"You bitch," he said. "You rich
bitch. That's poetry. I'm full of
poetry now. Rot and poetry.
Rotten poetry."
"Stop it. Harry, why do you
have to turn into a devil now?"
"I don't like to leave anything,"
the man said. "I don’t like to
leave things behind."
***
It was evening now and he had
been asleep. The sun was gone
behind the hill and there was a
shadow all across the plain and
the small animals were feeding
close to camp; quick dropping
heads and switching tails, he
watched them keeping well out
away from th