She looked. "No," she said quietly.

Mo slumped in despair. He said nothing for a few minutes, his big frame melting into the chair. He looked up, coughed a frog out of his throat and said, "I'm not unhappy with you Elle. I just think we're all being tricked."

His eyes lost their silver-backed glimmer, his smile sagged before it picked up at the ends. In a few minutes, Mo had become just an image of a man.

They went to bed and Elle fell asleep in his arms. But Mo couldn't sleep. He still had ideas about space and the separation by time into cubicles of some sort that surrounded each object and moved around and back into the space as the object moved within it. Not a flat shiny world like this, but a real living world.