She realized that with a pang of disgust and horror. E. The clever hostess having let fall that several distinguished guests from France would be present, the world had flocked to her doors to catch, like the gossip-hungry vultures they were, a glimpse of them. All bad verse—originally the epigram was Lang’s, I believe—is written in a state of emotion. You came to see me in the hospital. I didn’t think—I don’t know what I thought. She had never before heard the noise of firecrackers, and in the beginning the sputtering racket caused her to wince. Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. Everybody who’s going to develop into a woman.
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