She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. ” Anna handed her a bracelet she had made out of string and macaroni. They were in many respects so right; she clung to that, and shirked more and more the paradoxical conviction that they were also somehow, and even in direct relation to that rightness, absurd. "Do they treat you ill?" asked her son. Annabel laughed a little uneasily. “I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly. I don’t think for a moment that he would recognize you.
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