to talk it all out—patient and kind and merciful, the both of us—just gaze at each other in compassion and say all the things, answer all the questions, admit all the lies and jealousy and pride and fear that had built up between us back when we hardly knowed each other. I wanted to be able to believe her, believe everthing she said, about Mama or anything else, get to know her truly. I felt like I had a deep and abiding love for her which I never had give voice to, and I needed to hear it maybe more than she did. I had always had a secret picture in my mind, of me and her setting calmly
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