Avon Fantasy Reader No. 14 — page 31: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

“Wait a minute.” He snapped his fingers disgustedly. “Why, I remember now. He was supposed to visit us tomorrow afternoon. How stupid of me.” They sat down to eat. She looked at her food and did not move her hands, “What's wrong?” he asked, not looking up from dipping his meat in the bubbling lava. “I don't know. I’m not hungry,” she said. “Why not?” “I don’t know; I’m just not.” The wind was rising across the sky; the sun was going down. The roons was small and suddenly cold. “I've been trying to remember,” she said in the silent room, across from her cold, erect, golden-eyed husband, “Remember what?” He sipped his wine. “That song. That fine and beautiful song.” She closed her eyes and hummed, but it was not the song. “I’ve forgotten it. And, somehow, I don’t want to forget it. It’s somethiag I want always to remember.” She moved her hands as if the rhythm might help her to remember all of it. Then she lay back in her chair. “I can’t remember.” She began to cry. “Why are you crying?” he asked. “I don’t know, I don’t know, but I can’t help it. I’m sad and I don’t know why, I cry and I don’t know why, but I’m crying.” Her head was in her hands; her shoulders moved again and again. “You'll be all right tomorrow,” he said. She did not look up at him; she looked only at the empty desert and the very bright stars coming out now on the black sky, and far away there was a sound of wind rising and canal waters stirring cold in the long canals, She shut her eyes, trembling. “Yes,” she said. “I'll be all right tomorrow.” comicbooks.com