The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. “One can’t tell. So I undertook to protect her by keeping love out of her life, by crushing it whenever it appeared, obliterating it. She had traversed perhaps three bookshelves, passed across the door that must lead to the hall, turned the corner, and was just about to reach the fireplace when she abruptly became aware that something under her fingers had felt wrong. The room was intimate and wonderful to her with its shadows now cast over the girlish menagerie of stuffed animals. He stood there, large and dark, enunciating, in his clear voice from beneath his large mustache, clear flat sentences, deliberately kindly.
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