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"
No
.
Of
course
I
don
’
t
.
But
I
do
blame
you
for
sitting
wallowing
in
it
.
You
could
climb
out
of
it
if
you
didn
’
t
have
your
old
-
fashioned
fancy
-
pants
ideas
.
Everybody
’
s
laughing
at
you
.
A
grand
gentleman
without
money
is
a
bum
.
"
The
word
exploded
in
her
head
,
and
she
was
silent
and
ashamed
.
"
I
’
m
sorry
,
"
Ethan
said
.
"
You
have
taught
me
something
—
maybe
three
things
,
rabbit
footling
mine
.
Three
things
will
never
be
believed
—
the
true
,
the
probable
,
and
the
logical
.
I
know
now
where
to
get
the
money
to
start
my
fortune
.
"
"
Where
?
"
"
I
’
ll
rob
a
bank
.
"
The
little
bell
of
the
timer
on
the
stove
took
up
a
slow
-
spaced
pinging
.
Mary
said
,
"
Go
call
the
children
.
The
casserole
’
s
ready
.
Tell
them
to
turn
out
the
light
.
"
She
listened
to
his
tread
.
My
wife
,
my
Mary
,
goes
to
her
sleep
the
way
you
would
close
the
door
of
a
closet
.
So
many
times
I
have
watched
her
with
envy
.
Her
lovely
body
squirms
a
moment
as
though
she
fitted
herself
into
a
cocoon
.
She
sighs
once
and
at
the
end
of
it
her
eyes
close
and
her
lips
,
untroubled
,
fall
into
that
wise
and
remote
smile
of
the
ancient
Greek
gods
.
She
smiles
all
night
in
her
sleep
,
her
breath
purrs
in
her
throat
,
not
a
snore
,
a
kitten
’
s
purr
.
For
a
moment
her
temperature
leaps
up
so
that
I
can
feel
the
glow
of
it
beside
me
in
the
bed
,
then
drops
and
she
has
gone
away
.
I
don
’
t
know
where
.
She
says
she
does
not
dream
.
She
must
,
of
course
.
That
simply
means
her
dreams
do
not
trouble
her
,
or
trouble
her
so
much
that
she
forgets
them
before
awakening
.
She
loves
to
sleep
and
sleep
welcomes
her
.
I
wish
it
were
so
with
me
.
I
fight
off
sleep
,
at
the
same
time
craving
it
.
I
have
thought
the
difference
might
be
that
my
Mary
knows
she
will
live
forever
,
that
she
will
step
from
the
living
into
another
life
as
easily
as
she
slips
from
sleep
to
wakefulness
.
She
knows
this
with
her
whole
body
,
so
completely
that
she
does
not
think
of
it
any
more
than
she
thinks
to
breathe
.
Thus
she
has
time
to
sleep
,
time
to
rest
,
time
to
cease
to
exist
for
a
little
.
On
the
other
hand
,
I
know
in
my
bones
and
my
tissue
that
I
will
one
day
,
soon
or
late
,
stop
living
and
so
I
fight
against
sleep
,
and
beseech
it
,
even
try
to
trick
it
into
coming
.
My
moment
of
sleep
is
a
great
wrench
,
an
agony
.
I
know
this
because
I
have
awakened
at
this
second
still
feeling
the
crushing
blow
.
And
once
in
sleep
,
I
have
a
very
busy
time
.
My
dreams
are
the
problems
of
the
day
stepped
up
to
absurdity
,
a
little
like
men
dancing
,
wearing
the
horns
and
masks
of
animals
.
