They were a dull grey, but the dark frizzed hair that framed her face was attractive. And in these crowded four weeks, what had she learned? That all horizons were lies: that smiles and handshakes and goodbyes and welcomes were lies: that there were really no to-morrows, only a treadmill of to-days: and that out of these lies and mirages she had plucked a bitter truth—she was alone. She opened her eyes. Her nurse says she may live some time; but she seems to me to be sinking fast. ” On the inside she felt her muscles loosen with relief. His name is carved upon a beam up stairs. The same pale white buttocks, the same freckles in the same unchanging patterns on her collarbone that all of her mother’s potions had never been able to erase. At length she hit upon it: bubbling water. I have always loved you.
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