Her eyes were dilated— fixed in a horrified stare at the parting in the curtains which hung before the window. She had not chosen her life, but she was foggy on whether or not it was right to deny others the right to join her in her suffering. “Why would she do that? Why does she care? That’s a waste of her time. I didn’t allow myself to see things as they were in those days; now I do. “But why is it preposterous?” asked Ann Veronica, and fiddled with a pipe on the mantel. My letters are returned unopened, her maid will not even allow me across the doorstep.
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