At length the task was done, and she jabbed the needle into a cushion, folded the coat, and rose. Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. They did not want her. When she told him that the natives called her The Dawn Pearl, his delight was unbounded. ‘Damn you, what’s the matter with you?’ he snapped in frustration. The world had grown dark and wide, and she was very small. She had a feeling at his departure as of an immense cavity, of something enormously gone; she could not tell whether it was infinite regret or infinite relief. ‘We’ll have you right out of the way, just in case. His tie had demanded a struggle; he ought to have taken a clean one after his first failure. A lucky escape. It was excellently done, especially as she loved good dinners. The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. "So has the butterfly evil thoughts.
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