They used to marry us off at seventeen, rush us into things before we had time to protest. I have brought disgrace upon you, and I haven’t been the right sort of wife at all. It is quite light yet, and I want to have one more look at that angry red sun. But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind.
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