“My sister and I,” she said slowly, “have seen very little of each other lately. As she talked, the drift and significance of what she was saying shaped itself slowly to Ann Veronica’s apprehension. Then, as he was trying to bite through the rope, I told him, ‘That’s for 107 Traci, motherfucker. What a pity! For all her ignorance of material things—the human inventions which served the physical comforts of man—how much she knew about man himself! She had seen him bereft of all those spiritual props which permit man to walk on two feet instead of four—broken, without resilience.
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