Oh, darling, you will be good to me, won't you? Because we're going to have a strange life.
I was trying to learn to write, commencing with the simplest things, and one of the simplest things of all and the most fundamental is violent death.
I thought she was probably a little crazy. It was all right if she was. I did not care what I was getting into.
I had learned already never to empty the well of my writing, but always to stop when there was still something there in the deep part of the well, and let it refill at night from the springs that fed it.
That was called transplanting yourself, I thought, and it could be as necessary with people as with other sorts of growing things.
But life isn't hard to manage when you've nothing to lose.