In between gusts he listened for other familiar sounds.  None of them frightened him any more.  He was frightened only by the fact that he could no longer be in doubt about any one of them-- the sucking sound the wind made in the ledges about the beach; the one wail from a gull, nested in the rocks.  He had never felt so cold.  His toenails looked blue; his joints seemed iced, his blood reptilian thick, and his skin stretched tightly over all his body.  He felt thin and stiff and old.  And surprisingly near to him was the cooing of the gull-- not the content and drowsy cooing he was used to hearing, but a frightened, nervous whimper, the soft of self-comforting whistle that a small boy controls himself with walking home alone after dark.      Harvey stepped out into the snow and looked up at the eaves.  A young sea gull, still brown, was stooped in one of the small cubicles below the roof.  Its neck slid in and out of its hunched shoulders and its cooing was fast and excited.  It was the bird's first snow; menaced by the blur of thick flakes, it had come here to endure this new terror of the night.  Harvey's envy for the bird so thoroughly chilled him that he went back inside the house.      Even inside he shivered, and he felt as breakable as a winter branch.  Emily was on his side of the bed, apparently asleep, but when he touched her, she reached out and caught his cold hands.      "I've warmed your side for you."      "Did I wake you?" Harvey asked.      "Never mind."  She smiled and pulled him down to the bed.  "My God, you're cold, darling," she said.      He moved beside her, shivering against her warmth.  He put his head high on her chest and lay very still, and against his ear he felt the steady pulse in her throat.  The wind rambled into the house, and Harvey anticipated every creak, recognized all things stirred by the wind.      But Emily held him, held him so surely that he feared she might even love him too much, and when he closed his eyes he saw the vanishing flag of the doe, forever vanishing, and escaping his vision in bounds.  But he saw it. THE END
Originally appeared in Redbook, "The Magazine for Young Adults", November 1965, Vol. 126, No. 1, page 56.