Before her stretched blank spaces, dotted with running people coming toward her, and below them railings and a statue. “I mean REALLY independent. She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees. ” Mr. God, how old are they now? They must be teenagers. “We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. She could think of nothing more to say. Let us pass, Sir. I—I don’t understand,” the man faltered wearily. Close upon this came another thought.
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