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F. John has made me so happy, I’ve been losing myself in him. Like a river swollen by many currents, it gathered force from the various avenues that poured their streams into it. She often found herself absorbed by watching the tall grass undulate from the cave’s central doorway as solitary hunters prowled for buffalo and stag on the plain. What right had she to call herself “Alcide”? It was abominable, an imposture. Why am I here—thirty years of loneliness? Because I know women, the good and the bad; and because I could not have the good, I would not take the bad. You know how stubborn they get. Capes most trying.
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