The man leaned back, embracing one knee with both hands.
They were nerveless, indeterminate hands, with long fingers, such as are in the habit of dropping things.

Zora wondered how they supported his knee.
For some time he stared into vacancy, his pale-blue eyes adream.

Zora laughed.
"Guns ?" she asked.
"No," said he, awaking to her presence.

"Perambulators." She rose.

"I thought you might be thinking of breakfast.