“What made you think” he said, abruptly, with the gleam of avidity in his face, “that love makes people happy?” “I know it must. “Oh my God, what if she’s dead?” More giggling. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. Absolutely. ’ ‘Parbleu, it is I who am the idiot?’ she scolded furiously, removing one hand and digging it into her sleeve. He saw the colossal selfishness of his act; but he could not beg off on the plea of abnormality. Clear water gave away to gray as she waded deeper, feeling her slippers on rock.
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