“You don’t understand,” she said. “I suppose I am really talking? I’m not just moving my mouth and waving my arms and not making any noise? You do hear me? Because it is beginning to look to me like you don’t care in the least whether I talk or not, or whether the doc sees you or not, or whether we go out or stay in or whether we eat or don’t eat or whether I live or don’t live or whether I’m happy or not; I keep feeling that when I work to make something special for your dinner that you used to like once and then forget to tell you what it is you don’t even know what you’re eating.”
