“That is where I got confused,” he said. She pawed at him, her hunger for his body making her dizzy with anticipation. The afternoon was her own; but from eight until midnight she sat beside the patient. She lunged without warning again, and Gosse, just catching her blade on his own, was obliged to retreat backwards up the little stair. It is for that reason that this novel begins with her there, and neither earlier nor later, for it is the history of this crisis and its consequences that this novel has to tell. Sometimes it seemed that she would never recover it. 167 “True love is forever, isn’t it?” It was something a child would say, a phrase she had seen scratched on bathroom walls and maple trees, but it made her sad.
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