But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. He turned the wheel carefully as he touched her neck with the other, threading her soft curls in between his slim fingers. ‘I think you’ve gone stark, staring crazy. It was filled with sopping lichens and green benches too slimy to sit upon. She felt herself falling, her bile rising in her 61 throat, the cold wind spinning around her like vertigo. She looked in the rear-view mirror. She met his older brother and played another short violin recital, much to the delight of 178 John’s immediate family. ” “Please tell me why?” she asked. Three a week is my allowance, and, if I get short ones, four.
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