She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. A little smothered cry broke from her lips—the curtains were thrown aside and a man stepped out. What part of 1902 is it that you grew up in?\" He poked fun at her, clearly infatuated. Afterward he stole out of the room with the bloodstained sheet to boast her virginity to his brothers and father, which only truly mattered because she was beautiful, her mother had said. The wall of the sky, the wall of the horizon, the wall behind which each human being hid—the wall behind which she herself was hiding! If only her mother had lived, her darling mother! Presently the unhappy puzzlement left her face; and an inward glow began to lighten it.
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