“So, just how many foster homes were you in before the coming to live here?” “You don’t want to hear about all of that, Michelle. “It’s glorious good!” “Suppose now—look at this long snow-slope and then that blue deep beyond —do you see that round pool of color in the ice—a thousand feet or more below? Yes? Well, think—we’ve got to go but ten steps and lie down and put our arms about each other. She had grabbed! She became less and less attentive to his meditative, self-complacent fragments of talk as she told herself this. It may not be just, it may not be fair, but things are so.
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