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It is always dangerous to give a young man permission to ask an impertinent question. One cannot, after the permission is given, complain when he does so.
Arthur looked, I thought, a little nonplussed at this response. He had tried to start a little game with Simon over me, and Simon had refused to play.
How odd, I thought, that Arthur’s good looks made me feel off-balance and slightly ill, but Simon’s made me feel like I was sitting in my own chair at home with a teapot brewing and a good fire warming me.
Suddenly, I remembered Mother’s words: Courage is love defying fear.
“Bring forth fruit in keeping with repentance. You told me you were sorry. I’d like to believe you. It would make it that much easier for me to forgive you. Which I intend to do, for the good of my own soul.”
“Yes, yes, of course, tonight, if you wish. Do not worry. For now, just cry.”
I don’t think I’d ever been told to cry before in my life, but it was excellent advice. I felt as if my spirit was slowly returning to my body—perhaps guided thither by the sound of my sobs.
