” “My Mom complains that she’s tired all the time. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. She drank it obediently. It might be three yards in width, and a few more in length; but it was covered with ooze and slime, and the waves continually broke over it. She had eaten them. Lucy felt a finger tap her on the bra strap as she observed Michelle chatting with yet another passing group of people.
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