He knocked at the door. ” Her elation teetered in mid-air for a second, then began to flutter down around her like a badly-built house of cards. And then they talked of Anarchism and Socialism, and whether the former was the exact opposite of the latter or only a higher form. She broke this promise when she told me that my mother was this Mary, and not Suzanne Valade at all. The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable. She admired his backside as he fetched a blue towel from his bathroom. It was decrepit and too large. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade.
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