The spray of dried flowers on the coffee-table
had overturned; beneath the table, barely visible, lay a dish of crusted
custard pudding and a large book. He woke up around eleven, and almost as soon
as Annie heard him stirring about, she came in with orange juice, his pills,
and a bowl of hot chicken soup. There were more pages in the book, but he could
tell, by the snug way most lay against each other that he was almost done with
Annies history up to now. Martian death-machines He looked toward the barbecue
pot, expecting it to look like a barbecue pot in the morning light: a barbecue
pot and nothing else.