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Updated: May 27, 2025
A silence fell between them, and Sime was now conscious of the fragile-seeming, so deceiving beauty of this Martian girl. Something had come between them, stripped away the masculine frankness that had existed during their short and dangerous time together. Perhaps it was the softly revealing drape of the thread-of-gold robe she was wearing true queenly garb, donned by her for the first time.
Once, when they stopped for Wolden to thrust some moldy folds of Hindu thread-of-gold weaving from their path, Odin stopped and picked up the cover of a book. It was soggy and faded. But he could make out the title: "Poems by a Bostonian." So they had gone on, but slower now than on their first journey into the tunnel which led to the floor of the Gulf.
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