for it had never rained. Birds hadn't troubled to make nests, nor
rabbits to dig warrens. Everybody had felt perfectly safe to sleep
out-of-doors, wherever he happened to find himself, without a thought
of protection.

Here in the wilderness it was different. There were no paths. The jungle
grew up tall and threatening. Thorns leant out to tear one's flesh. If
it hadn't been for the elephant uprooting trees in his fits of temper,
no one would have been able to travel anywhere. One by one the animals
slunk away and began to lead their own lives independently, making lairs
for themselves. Every day that went by they avoided the Man and Woman
more and more. At first they used to peep out of the thicket to jeer at
their helplessness; soon they learnt to disregard them as if they were
not there. From having believed himself to be the wisest of living
creatures the Man discovered himself to be the most incompetent. Often
and often he would creep to the gold-locked gates and peer between the
bars, hoping to see God walking there as formerly. But God walked no
more. As He had climbed back into Heaven, He had destroyed the sky-blue
stairs behind Him. There was no way in which the Man could reach Him to
ask His advice or pardon.

But it was the Woman who caused the Man most unhappiness. It wasn't that
she despised and blamed him. He'd grown used to that since leaving Eden.
Everybody, except the dog and the robin, despised and blamed him. The
Woman caused him unhappiness because she was unwell--really unwell; not
just an upset stomach or a headache. In Eden she had always been strong
and beautiful, like sunlight leaping on the smooth, green lawn--so white
and pink and darting. Her long gold hair had swayed about her like a
flame; her white arms had parted it as though she were a swimmer. Her
eyes had been shy and merry from dawn to dusk. She had been a darling;