For such of us as pretend to be wise—and we are but fools in a lesser degree—we know that humanity moves onward only by the impellant of fine dreams. A kind but hard looking female officer named Rose took her into a room and sat her down at a small wooden table. There were a few loose, broken fragments of rock to reckon with upon the ledges, and one place where hands did as much work as toes. His lovely black eyes softened until they became like languid as the night sky. If such a thing in connexion with him had been possible they would have declared that he was in a towering rage. She auditioned and got a summer job teaching violin at the Mozart summer music camp for children, catching the luckiest of breaks. From time to time the man below would shout, and the boy would let the threads go with the snap of a harpist, only to recover them instantly. I know you’re young but I think I, no, I know that I love you.
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