The Sight Of One's Own

I Suppose, I Hoped, By Setting A Particularly Brutal Ancient Rite In The Present And In My Own Village To Shock The Story's Readers With A Graphic Dramatization Of The Pointless Violence And General Inhumanity In Their Own Lives.

In Ten Years I Will Be A Beautiful Charming Lovely Lady Writer Without Any Husband Or Children But Lots Of Lovers And Everyone Will Read The Books I Write And Want To Marry Me But I Will Never Marry Any Of Them. I Will Have Lots Of Money And Jewels Too.

You Will Be Wondering About That Sugar Bowl, I Imagine, Is It Still In Use? You Are Wondering, Has It Been Cleaned? You May Very Well Ask, Was It Thoroughly Washed?

Poor Strangers, They Have So Much To Be Afraid Of.

Can't You Make Them Stop?' I Asked Her That Day, Wondering If There Was Anything In This Woman I Could Speak To, If She Had Ever Run Joyfully Over Grass, Or Had Watched Flowers, Or Known Delight Or Love.