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Everybody’s so busy.
“Of course,” she declared, “that’s what everybody wants, just a little more money, even the people who have it. And I must say I don’t blame them. Money’s awfully nice to have. In fact, all things considered, I think, ’Rene, that it’s even worth the price.”
The trouble with Clare was, not only that she wanted to have her cake and eat it too, but that she wanted to nibble at the cakes of other folk as well.
Why had she allowed him to make his assertions and express his misconceptions undisputed?
She had that uncomfortable feeling that one has when one has not been wholly kind or wholly true.
Pain, fear, and grief were things that left their mark on people. Even love, that exquisite torturing emotion, left its subtle traces on the countenance.
Young men, old men, white men, black men; youthful women, older women, pink women, golden women; fat men, thin men, tall men, short men; stout women, slim women, stately women, small women moved by.
She went on pouring. Made repetitions of her smile. Answered questions. Manufactured conversation.
What are friends for, if not to help bear our sins?
It did hurt. But it didn’t matter.
