I muse, on a wistful note. He leaves us, and we sit before the darkening view until it's time for supper back in our rooms. We're still not quite strong enough for the common table, so our own society will have to stand us for the evening. I have to nod in agreement, sitting beside him, feeling the slow, regular weight of my pendulum. Around us the evening shadows knit into the fabric of one continuous darkness.
Early stars hang like ornaments among the top branches of the pines.
Excerpted from The Sadness of Sex, by Barry Yourgrau. Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.