She put on the pink-sprigged dimity nightdress that made her look like a Kate Greenaway illustration. Actually there was no point in looking like anything except a deserted wife. She turned out the bedroom light, climbed into bed, and put her face into his pillow.
A fine honeymoon, going to bed alone.
2
Con said, “Are you awake?”
It woke her. He was standing by the bed, his hands jammed into his pockets, rattling something. But he wasn’t smiling. The light from the living room made half-light here; she could see the disturbance in his frown. And a little fear without reason came into her heart.
“Yes, I’m awake.” She pushed over halfway to her own side of the bed. He sat down on the edge, pulled his hand out of his pocket. She saw what had made that rattling. On his palm lay a half doz
