She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. ‘There is Bernadette, Marie-Thérèse, Marie-Joséphine, Marie-Claire, Henriette—’ Exasperated, Gerald seized her by the shoulders. Michelle tossed her hair like a young colt flicking its tail. What a pity! For all her ignorance of material things—the human inventions which served the physical comforts of man—how much she knew about man himself! She had seen him bereft of all those spiritual props which permit man to walk on two feet instead of four—broken, without resilience. Some days, his eyes were green. ” “Right,” he answered. " "Ah! Now I can get a perspective.
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