occasionally whetted one to a still more 
razor edge and threw it into a near by 
tree, where it stuck, quivering. 
There was no conversation, but I did 
not feel forgotten. 
I turned my back on the cook and 
gazed into the fire, a miserable smould- 
ering affair, and speculated on why I 
had never before noticed how much 
spare time there was in a minute. It 
may have been five of these spacious 
minutes, it may have been fifteen, that 
had passed away when the cook ap- 
proached me. I could fee/ him com- 
ing. He came very close to me — and 
to the fire. 
He put on some beans. 
Then he went away, and there were 
many more minutes, many more. 
Then something touched my arm. 
At last it had come (what we expect, 
noomnom reno 
