’ She paused, holding her nurse’s eyes. ” “Act two,” she continued. “Okay, Mom. The winters were terrible in cold climates, and she often had been driven to dig herself large underground pits where she waited it out like a mole in the cold months. She was aware of people—her aunt, her father, her fellow-students, friends, and neighbors— moving about outside this glowing secret, very much as an actor is aware of the dim audience beyond the barrier of the footlights. "Red apples and snow!" she sent back at him, her face suddenly transfixed by some inner glory. "Impossible!" echoed Wild, with a fearful imprecation. It would be easy enough for me to write an eloquent letter about something else.
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