Зима тревоги нашей

           IofferedaspectraltoasttooldCap’nandduckedmyheadtomyfather.IevenmademydutytotheuntenantedholeinthepastIknewasmymother.Ineverknewher.ShediedbeforeIcould,andleftonlyaholeinthepastwheresheshouldbe.

           Onethingtroubledme.AuntDeborahandoldCap’nandmyfatherwouldnotcomeclear.Theiroutlineswerevagueandwaverywheretheyshouldhavebeensharpasphotographs.Well,perhapsthemindfadesinitsmemoriesasoldtintypesdo—thebackgroundreachingouttoengulfthesubjects.Icouldn’tholdthemforever.

           MaryshouldhavebeennextbutIlaidherasideforlater.

           IraisedAllen.Icouldnotfindhisearlyface,thefaceofjoyandexcitementthatmademesureoftheperfectabilityofman.Heappearedwhathehadbecome—sullen,conceited,resentful,remoteandsecretinthepainandperplexityofhispubescence,adreadful,harrowingtimewhenhemustbiteeveryonenear,evenhimself,likeadoginatrap.Eveninmymind’spicturehecouldnotcomeoutofhismiserablediscontent,andIputhimaside,onlysayingtohim,Iknow.IrememberhowbaditisandIcan’thelp.Noonecan.Icanonlytellyouitwillbeover.Butyoucan’tbelievethat.Goinpeace—gowithmyloveeventhoughduringthistimewecan’tstandeachother.

           Ellenbroughtasurgeofpleasure.Shewillbepretty,prettiereventhanhermother,becausewhenherlittlefacejellsintoitsfinalshapeshewillhavethestrangeauthorityofAuntDeborah.