” He adjusted his glasses on his nose. There was a long silence between them. ” “I am very much afraid,” Anna answered, “that it was. “What are you doing?” he asked. Why didn’t I die? Why does God hate me so? Why does He not want me? I didn’t die because I’m weak, because I am cursed! I hate this poisoned world! But most of all. And that happens through our maternity; it’s our very importance that degrades us. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. “Forgive me,” he said, “but I want to hear it from your sister.
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