“Who’ll mind the baby nar?” was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent. Where is Sebastianus? I am Rhea. He sat alone in his brother’s old car night after night that summer, staring blankly at the red sky beyond the abandoned farmhouse where she had once shown him her secrets. “What have I been all this time?” she asked herself, and answered, “Just stark egotism, crude assertion of Ann Veronica, without a modest rag of religion or discipline or respect for authority to cover me!” It seemed to her as though she had at last found the touchstone of conduct. “I am under police surveillance,” she said. Jolly hard life for a girl, getting a living. Pity you aren’t under my command.
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