“Why should it matter?” he said. ” She distantly remembered moments in childhood spent in phobic trance, when her father had told her God was punishing sinners in Hell. You are welcome to proclaim yourself ‘Alcide’ if you will. She liked his face; it had on it the suggestion of gentleness, of fineness. A sob was strangled in her throat. The lamp was not yet lit, and in the dim light he bent forward as though trying to look into her averted face. ‘Because you are a bête, and a pig, and imbecile. ” Obediently, Lucy placed the stone upon the mausoleum.
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