‘Grace à vous, I am compelled to rescue myself. That’s how things are; that’s the order of the world. Clarice loved babies as much as Lucia did and chattered about them day and night. One realized indeed then where the differences lay; the tender curves about Anna’s mouth transformed into hard sharp lines in Annabel’s, the eyes of one, truthful and frank, the other’s more beautiful but with less expression—windows lit with dazzling light, but through which one saw—nothing. There was a wall; she was always encountering it; the one time she was able to break through this wall was when the part in his hair was crooked.
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