I postponed a trip into town in the afternoon, and the old lack of direction seems to be reasserting itself, as if, now I am beyond Watermouth’s influence, I’ve sunk back into my isolate life. There’s nothing for me here but echoes and the skeletons of past ways. I haven’t been out of the house since Friday.
Dad responds to anything new with, “That is horrible! . . . This is shocking! . . . How can anyone like that? . . .”
All the old familiar reactions.
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