/lit/ - Literature

The subsoil beneath the palm trees was a raised beach, and generations
of palms had worked loose in this the stones that had lain on the sands
of another shore. Roger stooped, picked up a stone, aimed, and threw it
at Henry— threw it to miss. The stone, that token of preposterous time,
bounced five yards to Henry’s right and fell in the water. Roger gathered a handful of stones and began to throw them. Yet there was a space round
Henry, perhaps six yards in diameter, into which he dare not throw.

Here,invisible yet strong, was the taboo of the old life. Round the squatting
child was the protection of parents and school and policemen and the
law. Roger’s arm was conditioned by a civilization that knew nothing of
him and was in ruins.

Henry was surprised by the plopping sounds in the water. He abandoned
the noiseless transparencies and pointed at the center of the spreading
rings like a setter. This side and that the stones fell, and Henry turned
obediently but always too late to see the stones in the air. At last he
saw one and laughed, looking for the friend who was teasing him.

>>But Roger had whipped behind the palm again, was leaning against it breathing
quickly, his eyelids fluttering.


did roger have an orgasm?