She felt surges of longing escape every corner of her flesh. “Do you know why they are estranged?” Lucy asked. The struggle had dislodged the white wimple, which was evidently too large for her, and her black hair broke free, whirling like a whiplash about her head as her hands curled into fists, coming up to beat at his chest, her little teeth bared for attack. She wanted to think of him as her beloved person, to be near him and watch him, to have him going about, doing this and that, saying this and that, unconscious of her, while she too remained unconscious of herself. “Who can tell?” she said. But just now there is nothing which you or anybody can do. It was impossible.
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