| OCR Text |
Show like an airtight glass case, or a cocoon." Annis spreads the nightgown out on the bed, next to the chair in which her husband is sitting. "At least that's the way it is in the dream. Only it's your mind that can't move, not your limbs." She folds the nightgown into careful thirds. "I suppose it can be for Luel's kid." "She won't wear it either," Robeck says insistently. "She'll throw it away. I don't know why you bother." He moves uncomfortably again on the little chintz chair. He watches his wife take another nightgown from the drawer of the dresser they have shared for so many years, and hold the garment up to the light so that it falls open. She inspects it without much interest, and drops it by a sleeve into a large paper bag. He can see the interior of the drawer now: ever since he has known her she has been a rampant saver of everything, and her drawers are jungles: knots of sleeves and the isolated legs of stockings, tangles of miscellaneous underwear, clutches of odd handkerchiefs and gloves and unmatched socks. He had always found it somewhat mysterious, as if these drawers held secrets to her person he had not yet discovered. But now she is bringing a severe order to the chaos, and he sees that doing so is qiving her an extraordinary pleasure. "I'm glad it won't happen to us," she says, and he realizes she is still thinking about the dream. He watches her take the items from the drawer one by one, examine them, and drop them in the charity bag or fold them carefully for the boxes labelled with the names of their children. He studies the boxes: they are large brown cardboard cartons, lined with tissue. He sees how boldly she has labelled them: Roddy, Evan, and the name of Luel's child. There are |
