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The voice of the singer was not a good voice, but there was a faint tragic sweetness tinting it that hurt Dot. It tore. It cut. Perhaps she was going far away and was going to leave Eddie wondering what to do.

She crept closer to him over the dead, black roof. His face was a blur of white in the darkness. She touched him, and his arms went around her with a gentle firmness that seemed for the moment as though they could keep her safe from Death itself.

They stood so for an age, it seemed. They were alone in the world, he and she standing alone in the hot, black dampness. There was a lump in Dot's throat. She wanted to cry, wanted to shriek that it wasn't fair. Why were you tortured with fear and grief when you were doing what, according to religion and science, was the right thing? Why was your body ill, your mind troubled, when you were saving and stinting just to bring another little life into the world? Oh, it wasn't fair. She hugged Eddie tightly. Perhaps very soon now his arms would be empty.

Over Interstate Park, a skyrocket cut through the fog and exploded, a torrent of hot red and dazzling green. The colors were dimmed slightly by the mist but you could guess that they were bright and very gay. To Dot, the thought of pleasure-seekers and excursionists at the Park did not occur. The skyrocket was just a mockingly cheerful salute from a world that was about to crumble and fall into the unknown.

"Oh, Eddie, I'm so blue."

He kissed her mouth gravely and held her close. He did