She drifted through the orchard, taking off her clothes, and stacking them in little piles underneath the pear trees. Like a huge white moth, she flittered through the trees, dancing and swaying voluptuously in the light of the gibbous Moon, caressing the rough tree bark and the unripe fruit as she passed. Albert, gazing through the screens of the sleeping porch, realized what was happening. He ran downstairs, shedding his pajama shirt on the kitchen floor and tossing the bottoms over the porch railing. He headed across the lawn to join her and tried to match her movements.