Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being. Even an unlikely episode such as this could not be ignored. You do not make me afraid like this. Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict. If he adhered to this policy—to keep away from her inconspicuously—she would forget the name by night, and to-morrow even the bearer of it would sink below the level of recollection. ‘Did you sigh and flutter your eyelashes?’ ‘Certainly I did. I’ve made no one happy. Horrible doubts assailed her. "The sums lavished upon those people are perfectly disgraceful, and I should be enchanted to see them hooted from the stage. No— no, it must never be.
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