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When
Mary
is
confused
or
perplexed
,
she
spurts
anger
the
way
an
octopus
spurts
ink
,
and
hides
in
the
dark
cloud
of
it
.
"
You
make
me
sick
,
"
she
said
.
"
You
can
’
t
let
anyone
have
a
little
happiness
.
"
"
My
darling
,
it
isn
’
t
that
.
It
’
s
a
despairing
unhappiness
I
’
m
afraid
of
,
the
panic
money
brings
,
the
protectiveness
and
the
envy
.
"
She
must
have
been
unconsciously
fearful
of
the
same
thing
.
She
struck
at
me
,
probed
for
a
hurting
place
,
and
found
it
and
twisted
the
jagged
words
.
"
Here
’
s
a
grocery
clerk
without
a
bean
worried
about
how
bad
it
will
be
when
he
’
s
rich
.
You
act
as
though
you
could
pick
up
a
fortune
any
time
you
want
to
.
"
"
I
think
I
can
.
"
"
How
?
"
"
That
’
s
the
worry
.
"
"
You
don
’
t
know
how
or
you
’
d
have
done
it
before
.
You
’
re
just
bluffing
.
You
always
bluff
.
"
The
intent
to
wound
raises
rage
.
I
could
feel
the
fever
rise
in
me
.
Ugly
,
desperate
words
moved
up
like
venom
.
I
felt
a
sour
hatefulness
.
Mary
said
,
"
Look
!
There
it
goes
!
Did
you
see
it
?
"
