What you would look upon as immorality is here merely an established custom, three thousand years older than Christianity, accepted with no more ado than that which would accompany you should you become a clerk in a shop. Her mother had died when she was thirteen, her two much older sisters had married off—one submissively, one insubordinately; her two brothers had gone out into the world well ahead of her, and so she had made what she could of her father. Blue haze had settled beyond the black silhouettes of trees, graduating to the deep violet that began the night sky. “You’re exactly as I remember you!” “Forever fifteen, remember?” She stepped closer to him into the light of the television screen. “I’ll have to pay it. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. “After all,” she said, “if this person will not be reasonable, I am afraid——” It was enough. Nature is God, Anna, and the greatest artist of us all a pigmy.
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