He could see the narrow bed with its pieced calico cover, the whitewashed walls with gay lithographs, and every crevice stuck full of twigs with dangling cocoons.

There were pegs for the few clothes, the old chest, the little table, the two chairs, the uneven floor covered with rag rugs and braided corn husk.

But nothing was worth a glance except the perfect face and form within reach by one spring through the rotten mosquito bar.

He gripped the limb above that on which he stood, licked his lips, and breathed through his throat to be sure he was making no sound.

Elnora closed the book and laid it aside.