The applause was uproarious at the end of the concert. . Somehow her walk home with him had been transmogrified into a melodramatic rejection, a slamming. Under her feet lay intricate mosaics, and each warm hall was festooned in tapestries. Shari laughed hysterically and was promptly shushed by Larry from the next room. “How crude you are, Anna!” she exclaimed with a little sigh. Mother? Suzanne Valade, her mother? With deliberation, he spoke. ” She was silent for a time, with her nose on the pillow, and that brought her to: “What’s the good of pretending? “I love him,” she said aloud to the dim forms of her room, and repeated it, and went on to imagine herself doing acts of tragically dog-like devotion to the biologist, who, for the purposes of the drama, remained entirely unconscious of and indifferent to her proceedings. My only love is for my poor lost son.
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