“Yes. And, in addition, she was now seeing and talking to Ramage almost weekly, on a theory which she took very gravely, that they were exceptionally friends. ” Anna hesitated no longer. But perhaps if people didn’t like clear, bright, healthy eyes—which is biologically understandable—they couldn’t like precious stones. We may be stopped. If she had any idea at all, it was something she dimly recalled from her books: something celestially beautiful, with a happy ending. In the afternoon she had considered certain doubts very carefully, and decided on a more emphatic course of action. She was suddenly very aware of the room, the television still blaring, and the chill in the air. We felt like thieves. She had eaten them, murdered them routinely, and yet he loved her still. As she learned more and more of his knowledge, she began to realize how much faith and trust he invested in her. Even now she was dazed. All men are bloody fucking hypocrites.
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