I don’t know that I understand altogether. ” “I will have your reason for this,” he said. For her mother to betray her seemed inevitable, but the betrayal seemed worse than her fate. ‘Still—here? Wasting your—time. Sometimes her straying mind would become astonishingly active—embroidering bright and decorative things that she could say to Capes; sometimes it passed into a state of passive acquiescence, into a radiant, formless, golden joy. We can’t afford to turn our women, our Madonnas, our Saint Catherines, our Mona Lisas, our goddesses and angels and fairy princesses, into a sort of man. Listen, it is I. She rapped on Michelle’s door loudly.
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