Either she had been seen, or they were seeking the air. Cheveney strolled up, a pipe in his mouth. She seemed to have recovered herself as he returned, but rose as if she would go back to the saloon. Of course there were goats. Any man might have endeavoured to protect himself in this fashion, a man with no one to care, with an unnameable terror at the thought (as if it mattered!) of being buried in alien earth, far from the familiar places he loved.
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