'You brought it up,' she said righteously.

'That seems to be all we have to talk about.'

She gasped, and then she said, 'It wasn't always that way.'

'No, not for the first year of our marriage. But since then–'

'Whose fault is that?' she cried.

'That's a good question. But I don't think we should go into it. It might be dangerous.'

'What do you mean?'

'I don't care to discuss it.'

He was himself surprised at what he had said. What did he mean? He did not know; he had spoken, not with his intellect but with his whole being. Had the Backrunner in him made him say that?

'Let's get to sleep,' he said. 'Tomorrow changes the face of reality.'

'Not before–' she said.

'Before what?' he replied wearily.

'Don't play shib with me,' she said. 'This is what started the whole thing. You trying to... put off your... duty.'

'My duty,' said Hal. 'The shib thing to do. Of course.'

'Don't talk like that,' she said. 'I don't want you to do it just because it's your duty. I want you to do it because you love me, as you are enjoined to do. Also, because you want to love me.'

'I am enjoined to love all of mankind,' said Hal. 'But I notice that I am expressly forbidden to perform my duty with anyone but my realistically bound wife.'

Mary was so shocked that she could not reply, and she turned her back to him. But he, knowing that he was doing it as much to punish her and himself as doing what he should, reached out for her. From then on, having made the formal opening statement, everything was ritualized. This time, unlike some times in the past, everything was executed step by step, the words and actions, as specified by the Forerunner in The Western Talmud. Except for one detail: Hal was still wearing his dayclothes. This, he had decided, could be forgiven, for it was the spirit, not the letter, that counted, and what was the difference whether he wore the thick street garments or the bulky nightclothes? Mary, if she had noticed the error, had said nothing about it.