’” “What did he say?” “What does any one say to an invitation to dinner point-blank? One tries to collect one’s wits. Send you the shirt. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. They WERE, she realized, acutely beautiful things. We must wash out those stains up stairs, and burn the cloth. It was just as easy to pretend she was watching one when she was actually watching the other. “My friend,” she said, “I have been your pupil for two years.
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