’ ‘But you must,’ Gerald said, quite as if he meant it. She patted John's head with her palm, its surface appealingly fuzzy. How she learned of her heritage I do not know, but you need not imagine that it is greed that drives her. Then he sat down again in a chair and said that people who wrote novels ought to be strung up. “Do you remember the mountains? Do you remember how we loved one another? How intensely we loved one another! Do you remember the light on things and the glory of things? I’m greedy, I’m greedy! I want children like the mountains and life like the sky.
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