But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. I don’t want to tear at you with hot, rough hands. ‘I hope I do not understand you. Into one of these he waded and rolled and rolled, despite her commands. I was among the common herd in the place below, but I took good care to see you. Grandmothers and grandfathers and uncles and aunts … to love and to coddle lonely little girls. I want to make you feel that here is a place where the crowd does not clamor nor ill-winds blow.
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