Bradbury, Ray - SSC 07 Read Online Free PDF Page A

nonsense.
What's come over you?"
                   "Nothing, Mother. Good night. We'll be
home late."
                   Ann and Cecy ran together into the spring
evening.
                   A room full of softly dancing pigeons ruffling
their quiet, trailing feathers, a room full of peacocks, a room full of rainbow
eyes and lights. And in the center of it, around, around, around, danced Ann
Leary.
                   "Oh, it is a fine evening," said
Cecy.
                   "Oh, it's a fine evening," said Ann.
                   "You're odd," said Tom.
                   The music whirled them in dimness, in rivers
of song; they floated, they bobbed, they sank down, they arose for air, they
gasped, they clutched each other like drowning people and whirled on again, in
fan motions, in whispers and sighs, to "Beautiful Ohio."
                   Cecy hummed. Ann's lips parted and the music
came out.
                   "Yes, I'm odd," said Cecy.
                   "You're not the same," said Tom.
                   'TSfo, not tonight."
                   “You're not the Ann Leary I knew."
                   “No, not at all, at all," whispered Cecy,
miles and miles away. "No, not at all," said the moved lips.
                   "I've the funniest feeling," said
Tom.
                   "About what?"
                   "About you." He held her back and
danced her and looked into her glowing face, watching for something. "Your
eyes," he said, "I can't figure it."
                   “Do you see me?" asked Cecy.
                   “Part of you's here, Ann, and part of you's
not." Tom turned her carefully, his face uneasy.
                   "Yes."
                   "Why did you come with me?"
                   "I didn't want to come," said Ann.
                   "Why, then?"
                   "Something made me."
                   "What?"
                   "I don't know." Ann's voice was
faintly hysterical.
                   "Now, now, hush, hush," whispered
Cecy. "Hush, that's it. Around, around."
                   They whispered and rustled and rose and fell
away in the dark room, with the music moving and turning them.
                   "But you did come to the dance,"
said Tom.
                   "I did," said Cecy.
                   "Here." And he danced her lightly
out an open door and walked her quietly away from the hall and the music and
the people.
                   They climbed up and sat together in the rig.
                   "Ann," he said, taking her hands,
trembling. "Ann." But the way he said her name it was as if it wasn't
her name. He kept glancing into her pale face, and now her eyes were open
again. "I used to love you, you know that," he said.
                   "I know."
                   "But you've always been fickle and I
didn't want to be hurt."
                   "It's just as well, we're very young,"
said Ann.
                   "No, I mean to say, I'm sorry," said
Cecy.
                   "What do you mean?" Tom dropped her
hands and stiffened.
                   The night was warm and the smell of the earth
shimmered up all about them where they sat, and the fresh trees breathed one
leaf against another in a shaking and rustling.
                   "I don't know," said Ann.
                   "Oh, but I know," said Cecy.
"You're tall and you're the finest-looking man in all the world. This is a
good evening; this is an evening I'll always remember, being with you."
She put out the alien cold hand to find his reluctant hand again and bring it
back, and warm it and hold it very tight.
                   "But," said Tom,