She had once reconciled in her mind that she was happy as long as she had him. She had fallen asleep on the wooden bed, uncaring of lice or bedbugs. Only a son’s another story. An early bird clarinetist burst through in a long black skirt, swishing like a bell. “And to think that it’s not a full year ago since I was a black-hearted rebel school-girl, distressed, puzzled, perplexed, not understanding that this great force of love was bursting its way through me! All those nameless discontents—they were no more than love’s birth-pangs. It is not possible for us to be on friendly terms with a young man who has been seen in a public place, having supper alone with your sister after midnight.
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