65. SHE ...

65.

She returned before noon, he was asleep again;

she sat on the side of the bed, her hand in his hair,

rolling his head on the pillow to shake him awake,

still in the open coat and the hat shoved back from

her forehead, looking down at him with the sober

yellow profundity, and now he mused indeed on

that efficiency of women in the mechanics,

the domiciling, of cohabitation.

{William Faulkner, The Wild Palms}