Hold me tight. I love you."
"My baby."
"Lilly, will you be--angry if I ask you something?"
"What?"
"Why--do you cry in the night sometimes?"
"Why, Zoe! Do I?"
"You know you do. I can feel you crying, and sometimes when I touch your
face--"
"Why, child--that's just my way. At night--things can be so real--so
terribly real. It is something you cannot understand yet."
"Do I make you sad?"
"No! No! No! My light, my life."
"Is it--Bruce?"
"Why, child--you talk nonsense! Don't speak of him as Bruce."
"I hate calling him Mr. Visigoth. It sounds--meek. I won't be meek! Are
you sure, Lilly, it isn't him--he?"
"Why, child, in Heaven's name should it be?"
"He looks at you so, Lilly. Maybe he makes you cry the way Bernhardt
makes me cry. By what he doesn't say. Saturday afternoons when I call
for you--he looks at you so when you're not looking."
"Why shouldn't he? We've worked together for all these years."
"You and he, when you stand up together you look so--so--_right_."
"Zoe, you are talking nonsense."
"But you're all red, aren't you?"
"No."
"Was it sex to say that?"
"No.
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