’ ‘Merci,’ she sighed and, surrendering at last to his oft-proffered aid, allowed her head to droop onto his chest. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. "Why you pretended not to recognize the photograph of the young fellow you toted around these diggings all day yesterday. "Jack Sheppard's fingers are lime-twigs. . She spied him sitting on his armless black couch, his feet splayed as he stared at his television blankly. He was beautiful despite the odd angle. “I want you to kiss me,” she said. Upon this grateful animal she lavished that affection which was subtly repelled by its lawful object. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. She saw his face change, how he regretted. But what would her aunt think of Teddy’s recent off-hand suggestion of marriage? What would she think of the Widgett conversation? Suppose she was to tell her aunt quietly but firmly about the parasitic males of degraded crustacea. She knew she was a monster and so did they. At Morningside Park I feel as though all my growing up was presently to stop, as though I was being shut in from the light of life, and, as they say in botany, etiolated.
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