“Well, I do. And if I don’t, I go mad. I shall like to think of it—whenever I feel dull. The immense disillusionment that awaited him! The devastating disillusionment! She had a vague desire to run after him, to state her case to him, to wring some understanding from him of what life was to her. A corner could hold the promise of a shelf of dainty crystals, volcanic ices of rainbow colors, or figurines of saints sculpted from horn and bone reenacting their martyrdoms on delicate miniature wooden stages. No matter. Soup would help you feel better, soup and hot tea. He appeared to be strangely uncommunicative, though I tried to draw him out. . The boy she had loved was gone.
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