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"
But
I
must
,
"
I
said
,
"
and
look
at
my
lips
!
"
"
I
've
been
thirsty
some
time
.
"
"
If
only
some
of
that
snow
had
remained
!
"
"
It
's
clean
gone
!
We
're
driving
from
arctic
to
tropical
at
the
rate
of
a
degree
a
minute
...
"
I
gnawed
my
hand
.
"
The
sphere
!
"
he
said
.
"
There
is
nothing
for
it
but
the
sphere
.
"
We
roused
ourselves
to
another
spurt
of
crawling
.
My
mind
ran
entirely
on
edible
things
,
on
the
hissing
profundity
of
summer
drinks
,
more
particularly
I
craved
for
beer
.
I
was
haunted
by
the
memory
of
a
sixteen
gallon
cask
that
had
swaggered
in
my
Lympne
cellar
.
I
thought
of
the
adjacent
larder
,
and
especially
of
steak
and
kidney
pie
--
tender
steak
and
plenty
of
kidney
,
and
rich
,
thick
gravy
between
.
Ever
and
again
I
was
seized
with
fits
of
hungry
yawning
.
We
came
to
flat
places
overgrown
with
fleshy
red
things
,
monstrous
coralline
growths
;
as
we
pushed
against
them
they
snapped
and
broke
.
I
noted
the
quality
of
the
broken
surfaces
.
The
confounded
stuff
certainly
looked
of
a
biteable
texture
.
Then
it
seemed
to
me
that
it
smelt
rather
well
.
I
picked
up
a
fragment
and
sniffed
at
it
.
"
Cavor
,
"
I
said
in
a
hoarse
undertone
.
He
glanced
at
me
with
his
face
screwed
up
.
"
Do
n't
,
"
he
said
.
I
put
down
the
fragment
,
and
we
crawled
on
through
this
tempting
fleshiness
for
a
space
.
