The shops were lighting up into gigantic lanterns of color, the street lamps were glowing into existence, and she had lost her way. Clarice rubbed her belly, singing songs to the unborn baby. “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. I have always managed to survive, haven’t I?” She was eager to stop talking about her parents. “I have had a trying evening and I need rest. They're gone into the next room. “That thing’s going on,” she told herself. Of this I'm certain, however, she was much too good for him, and was never meant to be a journeyman carpenter's wife, still less what is she now.
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