his legs wound about each other, thrilling, biting great chunks of apple. When he was with other people he was shy and unhappy, anxiously trying with nervous laughter to fit in. But here, alone, he was happy and reassured.
Jimmy Roberts had recommended Swinburne as hot stuff, but Joe forgot he was looking for that as he read:
Thou hast forgotten, O summer swallow,
But the world shall end when I forget.
Already the age-old cry, "Remember me!" was part of a language he dimly understood. "I will never forget you!" he said out loud, but cautiously, while he gazed starry-eyed, blindly, at the picture of Sir Galahad Kate had hung over his bed for his inspiration, the picture that had been invisible to him for years. Then he added, experimentally, "I have never forgotten you, my darling"
"Joe-ho! Oh, Joe!"
"Yessum!"
"We aren't going to have anything for supper, because Charlotte's out, and I thought it would be fun just to have a sort of picnic on the card table in front of the fire—what?"
"I didn't say anything!"
"So would you rather have scrambled eggs, or shall I just open a can of baked beans?"
