\" He piped up. A corner could hold the promise of a shelf of dainty crystals, volcanic ices of rainbow colors, or figurines of saints sculpted from horn and bone reenacting their martyrdoms on delicate miniature wooden stages. Why?" "I was just wondering. His voice propelled her to cry even harder, so hard that she began to laugh behind her tears. “Father,” she cried, “I have to live!” He misunderstood her. “I thought we had discussed that, father. But I proved it to them! Oh yeah, I told John, but I don’t think he believes me either. She had grabbed! She became less and less attentive to his meditative, self-complacent fragments of talk as she told herself this.
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