The recitation pulls him forward, closes the gap between them. Chickens scatter as Ellis crouches in front of her, heel to haunch, arms resting on his knees.

"I'm not angry."

A passing notion: if he took her hands maybe she would look him in the eye. But he doesn't reach for her. There is a distance, some chilly gulf between them that Ellis isn't sure he's invited to broach.

"But I think you might be angry with me," he says, aware of the ridiculousness of the statement, turning it back in this manner. "And I don't think it's...I think the survey is only part of what's troubling you."

And worse, that he is going to disappoint her. He is going to tell her no and he doesn't know that she'll be so accommodating of him now as she was the first time.