over to her bookshelves. "Tina says all these are yours."
"I'm afraid so," said Janet. She was peripherally aware that Tina was less than pleased. That Nick Tooley was six inches too short for Tina was no excuse for not feeling guilty, let alone for feeling smug. "Do you read children's books?"
"I'm afraid so," said Nick. "I started when I was young, you know, and never got out of the habit." He touched the black spine of The Worm Ourobouros. "How's this?"
"Gorgeous," said Janet. "Eddison wrote at the beginning of this century, but my father says it's written in something very like genuine Elizabethan English. The beginning is a little distracting, but the main story is just like the language."
"Elizabethan English, hmmm?" said Nick. "Think I could manage that, Robin?"
"Not a chance," said Robin, still gravely. "You can't even manage Samuel Johnson."
"Give it a try," said Janet, pulling the book out and handing it to him. He flinched a little, probably at the garish cover, but took it and opened it at random.
"What," said Janet to Molly, "were you waiting for me for?"
"Robin and Nick want our bunk beds," said Molly, "and t hey'll give us two single beds in exchange."
"Listen to this," said Nick. When he began to read, his voice altered and grew stronger. The broad vowels of his Iowan accent moved a little sideways into something half-Southern and half-British in sound. Christina, who had been fidgeting, stopped. "'O Queen,' said Juss, 'somewhat I know of grammarie and divine philosophy, yet must I bow to thee for such learning, that dwellest here from generation to generation and dost commune with the dead. How shall we find this steed? Few they be, and high they fly above the world, and come to birth but one in three hundred years.'" His glasses had slipped down his nose, but the gaze he bent on Robin when he finished reading was not vague or myopic. "How's that, then?" he said.
"Well spoken," said Robin, as gravely as ever, "with good accent and good discretion."
"May I?" said Nick to Janet.
She nodded, and he fetched a brand-new blue knapsack from Christina's bed and tucked the book into it. Human voices wake us, she thought. Do we always drown?
"Let's go, then," said Christina, standing up, "and get this over with."
"This" turned out to be the dismantling of Janet and Molly's bunk bed; the carrying of it down four flights of steps, all the way across campus to Taylor; the carrying of it up three flights of steps; and its bestowal in Robin and Nick's room. This was one of the odder rooms in Taylor, being L-shaped. Robin, apparently at his own request, was crammed back in the bottom of the L, with hardly enough space between his bed and his desk to fit the chair in. He did have a nice view, out the narrow window, of Blackstock's few remaining elms and the delicate tower of the chapel. He had no discernible possessions, unlike Nick, who had piles of books, sweaters, socks, and magazines all over the place, not to mention a guitar case, a banjo case, and a welter of broken strings hanging off various convenient doorknobs and picture hooks.
After a brief rest and a drink of water, it was of course necessary to take the box springs, mattresses, and metal frames of the single beds back along the same route.
Then they finished taking apart Christina's bed and lugged it up to the fifth floor of Taylor, where Robert Benfield wanted it. He did help them carry his two single beds back to Ericson, where they bestowed one in their own room and the other in the basement storage room, the piece that said FIFTH TAYLOR in black marker carefully turned to the wall.
Everything was just barely not too heavy. Janet was hungry and already tired from her walk. She remembered the entire experience for years as extremely unpleasant. But what she noticed more than her sore back, her aching legs, or the creases made in her hands by the metal frames of all the beds was how everybody was acting.
Christina had clearly set her sights
"I'm afraid so," said Janet. She was peripherally aware that Tina was less than pleased. That Nick Tooley was six inches too short for Tina was no excuse for not feeling guilty, let alone for feeling smug. "Do you read children's books?"
"I'm afraid so," said Nick. "I started when I was young, you know, and never got out of the habit." He touched the black spine of The Worm Ourobouros. "How's this?"
"Gorgeous," said Janet. "Eddison wrote at the beginning of this century, but my father says it's written in something very like genuine Elizabethan English. The beginning is a little distracting, but the main story is just like the language."
"Elizabethan English, hmmm?" said Nick. "Think I could manage that, Robin?"
"Not a chance," said Robin, still gravely. "You can't even manage Samuel Johnson."
"Give it a try," said Janet, pulling the book out and handing it to him. He flinched a little, probably at the garish cover, but took it and opened it at random.
"What," said Janet to Molly, "were you waiting for me for?"
"Robin and Nick want our bunk beds," said Molly, "and t hey'll give us two single beds in exchange."
"Listen to this," said Nick. When he began to read, his voice altered and grew stronger. The broad vowels of his Iowan accent moved a little sideways into something half-Southern and half-British in sound. Christina, who had been fidgeting, stopped. "'O Queen,' said Juss, 'somewhat I know of grammarie and divine philosophy, yet must I bow to thee for such learning, that dwellest here from generation to generation and dost commune with the dead. How shall we find this steed? Few they be, and high they fly above the world, and come to birth but one in three hundred years.'" His glasses had slipped down his nose, but the gaze he bent on Robin when he finished reading was not vague or myopic. "How's that, then?" he said.
"Well spoken," said Robin, as gravely as ever, "with good accent and good discretion."
"May I?" said Nick to Janet.
She nodded, and he fetched a brand-new blue knapsack from Christina's bed and tucked the book into it. Human voices wake us, she thought. Do we always drown?
"Let's go, then," said Christina, standing up, "and get this over with."
"This" turned out to be the dismantling of Janet and Molly's bunk bed; the carrying of it down four flights of steps, all the way across campus to Taylor; the carrying of it up three flights of steps; and its bestowal in Robin and Nick's room. This was one of the odder rooms in Taylor, being L-shaped. Robin, apparently at his own request, was crammed back in the bottom of the L, with hardly enough space between his bed and his desk to fit the chair in. He did have a nice view, out the narrow window, of Blackstock's few remaining elms and the delicate tower of the chapel. He had no discernible possessions, unlike Nick, who had piles of books, sweaters, socks, and magazines all over the place, not to mention a guitar case, a banjo case, and a welter of broken strings hanging off various convenient doorknobs and picture hooks.
After a brief rest and a drink of water, it was of course necessary to take the box springs, mattresses, and metal frames of the single beds back along the same route.
Then they finished taking apart Christina's bed and lugged it up to the fifth floor of Taylor, where Robert Benfield wanted it. He did help them carry his two single beds back to Ericson, where they bestowed one in their own room and the other in the basement storage room, the piece that said FIFTH TAYLOR in black marker carefully turned to the wall.
Everything was just barely not too heavy. Janet was hungry and already tired from her walk. She remembered the entire experience for years as extremely unpleasant. But what she noticed more than her sore back, her aching legs, or the creases made in her hands by the metal frames of all the beds was how everybody was acting.
Christina had clearly set her sights
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