"Suddenly I begin to grow attached to this spot," he said softly, "very attached." He looked at her for a long time, silent, then he said: "Where do you live, Dianne?" Now it was she who became silent, and didn't answer for a long interval. Clark became sober too, guessing the reason for her silence. "Bad memories?" "Uh huh," she said in a subdued tone. "62 Blitz." "My horror was the first Bomb. I saw the people around me cut to ribbons by flying glass." The birds and the wind through the trees were the only sounds, until, suddenly, she was in his arms, crying. He put his arms around her, pressing her close, comforting himself as well as her. "Why? Why did it happen...? Oh Clark...." The bitterness of perhaps many years flowed out in a flood of tears that seemed ceaseless. Silently, Clark listened to her story. And it wasn't an unfamiliar one, in fact commonplace, tragically commonplace. Dianne, as many other countless millions of girls, had been ordinary; the typical American maiden. (Clark could disagree with that.) She has been living in Los Angeles when the war came and disturbed the routine, the everyday life of everybody. Her parents had died in that murderous '62 blitz, and left her homeless when she was about ten. When civilization had crumbled, her own world gone, she found herself one of the tearful few left, living in the hills around the devastated cities. One of the very few. She had lived, just as Clark had, on Nature, and had found it to be ... pleasant. Once in a while, she obtained luxuries, such as cosmetics, soap and good clothing from one of the deserted houses among the hills. It was an old story ... tragically old. Dianne dried her eyes and looked beautiful, which wasn't hard. "I'm a cry baby," she said bitterly. "How long has it been since you've been with another person?" Dianne sniffled. "About four years. I can't remember exactly." "You're no cry baby kid, you've got a right to cry, and cry a helluva lot." He put a finger under her chin, raised her face, and kissed her lightly. "Hell! I haven't seen a girl in three years." She laughed. "What about you, Romeo," she said. "How did the war affect your life?" He sort of grinned, and leaned back against the tree, pulling her with him. "You know, I think it affected my life for the better. If it weren't for the war, I night not have met you. It seems that I'm falling in love with you already." Dianne frowned. "Don't say that.... Don't say that you wanted the war, think of the people that died ... your folks ... mine." "It was coming, I didn't realize then, but it had to come. Man was too far apart from Nature and Nature wanted him back...." "That's silly." "No, Dianne, no, it's not silly. Man lived in his concrete skyscraper, above the earth ... complex, not simple. He lost his sense of good and decency; he depended upon someone else for his food and well being. He became soft. It had to come."