amplight； his sleeves rolled back。
His clothes hung about him； carelessly； like mere wrapping。
Inside； his body was concentrated with a flexible； charged power
all of its own； isolated。 From when she was a tiny child Ursula
could remember his forearm； with its fine black hairs and its
electric flexibility； working at the bench through swift；
unnoticeable movements； always ambushed in a sort of
silence。
She hung a moment in the door of the shed； waiting for him to
notice her。 He turned； his black； curved eyebrows arching
slightly。
〃Hullo； Twittermiss！〃
And he closed the door behind her。 Then the child was happy
in the shed that smelled of sweet wood and resounded to the
noise of the plane or the hammer or the saw； yet was charged
with the silence of the worker。 She played on； intent and
absorbed； among the shavings and the little nogs of wood。 She
never touched him： his feet and legs were near； she did not
approach them。
She liked to flit out after him when he was going to church
at night。 If he were going to be alone； he swung her over the
wall； and let her e。
Again she was transported when the door was shut behind them；
and they two inherited the big； pale； void place。 She would
watch him as he lit the organ candles； wait whilst he began his
practicing his tunes； then she ran foraging here and there； li