Only I just want him. But it’s love you should’ve had when you were tiny and I didn’t give it to you. He took a handful of almonds and raisins that she held out to him—for both these young people had given up the practice of going out for luncheon—and kept her hand for a moment to kiss her finger-tips. ‘This journey I do not like,’ she said more loudly. There were moments when she doubted whether the whole mass of movements and societies and gatherings and talks was not simply one coherent spectacle of failure protecting itself from abjection by the glamour of its own assertions. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron.
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