with the study of hand specimens and some scraping of the sedimentary limestone just below the surface. he kept a lookout for fault lines in the beds of rock where oil or water might have gathered over millions of years since its formation under the stress of pressure and heat, the rock would have buckled in places, crumpled into d%eh@@ú@ú,ñ

remained at the house for part of the morning to study the rock specimens he had brought back

with him. and make notes on them and she brought coffee to him and they talked together while he drank it. sometimes after dinner, they would find themselves alone for a short while, though without conscience contrivance -- on he is's part at least, time for a smile to be exchanged and a few words to be spoken. but the regular time of their meeting was in a late-afternoon. they would have tea together, just as on the day of elliott's are rival. quite soon, this taking of tea together to, quality of a ritual, with elliott mainly talking and edith mainly listening. the preponderance was natural. he was by far the more loquacious, but he asked her questions about herself and she was usually reluctant to answer.

concerning her married life, she said practically nothing at all and he construed this restraint as a mark of discontent, though without really understanding it. she did not express energy of feeling a through eager words or 5-city of manner like the american women he had known, but through a sort of charge reticence which was new to him and full of erotic challenge. it was curious, it was intriguing that she should seem less than happy without betraying the fact by any sort of remark, save the most indirect. it was as if she were waiting with an assumption of nonchalance, and this could harden if she was pressed too

closely, for something, someone, to compel her to frankness, force an admission from her, make her expose herself to damage by declaring it. about the years before, her girlhood, when she lived with her parents, she would talk more, particularly about her father. his defense of the underdog, how much he had been admired and respected for his generosity and passion for justice, how he never undertook a defense unless he firmly believed his client was innocent of the charge against him. how he would accept lower fees, or even waive his fee altogether if he thought it was a deserving case. he had gotten rich all the same.

with the skepticism that came mixed with immediate dislike for this phony philanthropist, defending the underprivilege paid off. she had been born to money, it was written all over her. she had never felt the ache of poverty and deprivation, not like himself, ragged trousers, sometimes hungry. son of a settler on a homestead in oregon. naturally he gave no expression to these thoughts, even contriving nods of the head and looks of admiration, concealment have always come naturally to him. he wanted her, and this gave him tact that he might otherwise not have summoned, indistinguishable in his mind from consideration of strategy, similar to the feeling that made him avoid

glancing too frequently at the line of her bosom or the inclination of her limbs as she sat opposite him. her eyes shone when she spoke of her father and her life and home which was delicately molded, softened with tenderness. she held her head up and looked to elliott, altogether beautiful and regal. her father was a great storyteller in addition to everything else. he had told her a lot of stories when she was a little girl. he made them up as he went along, he could make anything into a story. there was one she remembered, about a wolf who had a bad name, quite undeservedly. well, elliott said, i guess wolves are much maligned. he had shot wolves as a boy in winter to keep them off of the

hogs but he said nothing of this. he wondered whether she had sat in her father's lab for these stories and how old she had been when they were discontinued. these were not question the anyone could ask but in any case, she did not want those days, that paradise from which he suspected she had never really emerged, subjected to questions, it was inviolable. instead, he talked to her about his activities of the day, taking care to give nothing much away. he began this way at least, but she had only limited interest in rock analysis. and the limits still showed in a certain vacancy of expression that would descend on her. it was stories she liked, just

as much as ever, it seemed. it was marvels of geology that made her face light up. for this reward, elliott was more than willing to supply them. in north america, beneath the great plains, fossil remains of marine creatures had been found. just imagine, 5,000 miles from the sea, at altitudes of 4,000 feet, they had found fossils of a sea creature, among them, the giant reptiles. had she heard tell of this and friendly fellow? you can look today at barack prince of an animal that has been extinct for millions of years that lived and feasted in these rocks were being formed on the floor of the seat. imagine the power that tumbled these rocks from the seabed and

thrust them up so i. los angeles, where oil seeped to the surface, and its volatile elements evaporated, a vast leg of package was formed, and sheets of water gathered above it and the ancestors of the wolf came to drink and died, trapped in the swamp. no one could tell how long does oil had been leaking. among the skeleton they found while extracting the pitch were some belonging to the saber tooth tiger, another ugly customer. it had ceased to have a beer 50,000 years ago. always, as he talked, his own sense of the miraculous came to him. informed of his words and gestures, to be here in this place at this time, no one's

self, the product of those in conceivably ancient travels of fostering earth. he was willing the woman before him with marvels. this, he knew. he knew also he was making headway, do it from the quality of the attention she gave him, the way her eyes rested on his face as he related to her the phases of the globe, the gashes, the liquid, the long consolidation but he had no sense of exploiting this wonder of hers because he's so totally shared it. he was himself and for all at these marvels, had been so from earliest manhood. the furnace at the heart of the world, the cataclysm of earthquakes, the secret paths of their migration, the amazing to bolt of volcanoes.

when he describes to her how the deposits of oil and gas were formed from plants and creatures that had once been in the world, had lived and died and color regulated together for millions of years and then for more millions have been subject to heat and pressure beyond human imagining, he was lost in the wonder of it, and she, needing always something less abstract, more tangible, fought of seaweed and eels and see resources crushed into a paste, imagined some remote and mysterious animal breeding its last on the floor of the sea, adding its body to the great host of bodies that was slowly being squeezed and melted together to make the oil. elliott, better to illustrate this group of barack, raised his hands and clenched his fists as

if they too held that creative fire. his blue eyes burned, his voice came in bursts of rhetoric. the first mercedes, the novelty, million registered automobiles in 1913. in the united states alone, you could say goodbye to steam, it was fuel oil now, fuel oil in the boilers of the factories, trains, ships. he leaned towards her, his body tense with provision of it. they were producing eighty million barrels a year now in the state of california. that vast and astounding upheaval, that unimaginable eat, produced by province to bring

this great boon to command any. and $1 billion industry, already, the lives of millions of americans had been transformed, it could happen here too, right here, the desert could be made to bloom. a new golden age ushered in, where now there were just a few wandering characters on camels living in tents and shooting at strangers, there would be highways, industries, spacious, brick built houses with front lawns and efficient plumbing and regular garbage disposal facilities. thank you. >> coverage of the 2009 key west literary seminar. up next, a conversation or between the eldest son of julius rosenberg and his daughter,

heidi, director and producer of rare to execution, which focuses on the legacy of her grandparents. this conversation, moderated by david lewis, is about 50 minutes. >> during the federal trial of julius and ethel rosenberg, there was almost a unanimous response from the public to cheer on the attorney general and the justice department's kennedy's 9 to convict the defendants. very little public protests until a newspaper, the national