 Why did Rhona look sick while she was dancing with Hank?
His Honor's handclasp was somewhat moist and cold. There he sat between the mayor and a nervous young coed chosen as homecoming queen, and looked out at the police and fire department bands, the National Guard, the boy scouts and girl scouts, the Elks and Masons. Several of the churches in town had shown indecision as to how to instruct their parishioners to treat him. He wanted a meal at his own table, a kiss from his wife, a word from his son, and later to see some old friends and a relative or two. The head of the American Legion and the chief of police, who had escorted him on this trip from the square, didn't ask to go in with him. But when he looked back at them, their eyes dropped, they turned away, they began moving off. She was still the small, slender girl he'd loved in high school, the small, slender woman he'd married twelve years ago. They held onto each other as if seeking mutual support, the thirty-three-year old woman and ten-year-old boy. He kissed her—her neck, her cheek—and all the old jokes came to mind, the jokes of travel-weary, battle-weary men, the and- then -I'll-put-my-pack-aside jokes that spoke of terrible hunger. So he put him down and told himself that it would all change, that everything would loosen up just as his commanding officer, General Carlisle, had said it would early this morning before he left Washington. Edith was leading him into the living room, her hand lying still in his, a cool, dead bird lying still in his. Carlisle had said his position was analogous to Columbus', to Vasco De Gama's, to Preshoff's when the Russian returned from the Moon—but more so. Edith said, "He made top forum the six-month period before vacation, and he made top forum the six-month period you went away, Hank." They had feared for him, having read of the many launchings gone wrong even in continent-to-continent experimental flight. Without waiting for an answer, he waved his hand—it shook; a ten-year-old boy's hand that shook—and ran from the room and from the house. He and Edith sat beside each other, and he wanted badly to take her in his arms, and yet he didn't want to oppress her.
 He was not the Hank she was used to dancing with.
 She had decided she needed to stop flirting with him and was upset by this.  Hank was already very drunk and the smell of alcohol on his breath appalled her.  He was not the Hank she was used to dancing with.  She had had too much to drink and her stomach was bothered.