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"
I
have
it
still
,
in
my
missal
.
And
every
time
I
see
a
rose
that
color
,
I
think
of
you
.
Meggie
,
I
love
you
.
You
're
my
rose
,
the
most
beautiful
human
image
and
thought
in
my
life
.
"
Down
went
the
corners
of
her
mouth
again
,
up
shone
that
tense
,
glittering
fierceness
with
the
tang
of
hate
in
it
.
"
An
image
,
a
thought
!
A
human
image
and
thought
!
Yes
,
that
's
right
,
that
's
all
I
am
to
you
!
You
're
nothing
but
a
romantic
,
dreaming
fool
,
Ralph
de
Bricassart
!
You
have
no
more
idea
of
what
life
is
all
about
than
the
moth
I
called
you
!
No
wonder
you
became
a
priest
!
You
could
n't
live
with
the
ordinariness
of
life
if
you
were
an
ordinary
man
any
more
than
ordinary
man
Luke
does
!
"
You
say
you
love
me
,
but
you
have
no
idea
what
love
is
;
you
're
just
mouthing
words
you
've
memorized
because
you
think
they
sound
good
!
What
floors
me
is
why
you
men
have
n't
managed
to
dispense
with
us
women
altogether
,
which
is
what
you
'd
like
to
do
,
is
n't
it
?
You
should
work
out
a
way
of
marrying
each
other
;
you
'd
be
divinely
happy
!
"
"
Meggie
,
do
n't
!
Please
do
n't
!
"
"
Oh
,
go
away
!
I
do
n't
want
to
look
at
you
!
And
you
've
forgotten
one
thing
about
your
precious
roses
,
Ralph
--
they
've
got
nasty
,
hooky
thorns
!
"
He
left
the
room
without
looking
back
.
*
*
*
Luke
never
bothered
to
answer
the
telegram
informing
him
he
was
the
proud
father
of
a
five-pound
girl
named
Justine
.
Slowly
Meggie
got
better
,
and
the
baby
began
to
thrive
.
Perhaps
if
Meggie
could
have
managed
to
feed
her
she
might
have
developed
more
rapport
with
the
scrawny
,
bad-tempered
little
thing
,
but
she
had
absolutely
no
milk
in
the
plenteous
breasts
Luke
had
so
loved
to
suck
.
That
's
an
ironic
justice
,
she
thought
.
She
dutifully
changed
and
bottle-fed
the
red-faced
,
redheaded
morsel
just
as
custom
dictated
she
should
,
waiting
for
the
commencement
of
some
wonderful
,
surging
emotion
.
But
it
never
came
;
she
felt
no
desire
to
smother
the
tiny
face
with
kisses
,
or
bite
the
wee
fingers
,
or
do
any
of
the
thousand
silly
things
mothers
loved
to
do
with
babies
.
It
did
n't
feel
like
her
baby
,
and
it
did
n't
want
or
need
her
any
more
than
she
did
it
.
It
,
it
!
Her
,
her
!
She
could
n't
even
remember
to
call
it
her
.
