Books were always sliding and slipping, clumsy objects to hold. Getting pregnant in high school ended that dream for her. ’ He could just see the glare. "My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. Perhaps she might never come back to that breakfast-room again. It was bare of any furnishings. She dreaded living off the land again, like an animal, as she had done for dozens of years at a stretch. I wanted you to know. One’s got to be a better man than one’s father, or what is the good of successive generations? Life is rebellion, or nothing. She remained on guard. I am the cause of his ill-usage.
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