At this juncture, the door was opened by Rachel. And I am grateful to you. He closed the door. Fast. Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict. I will give you all some tea, and then I must leave you for a few minutes. He had not taken many steps when he perceived Quilt Arnold in the upper gallery, with a lamp in his hand. I’ve been thinking, you know—I’m not sure that primarily the perception of beauty isn’t just intensity of feeling free from pain; intensity of perception without any tissue destruction. Here was an experienced man of the world, her friend, who evidently took a great interest in this supreme topic and was willing to give her the benefit of his experiences! Why should not she be at her ease with him? Why should not she know things? It is hard enough anyhow for a human being to learn, she decided, but it is a dozen times more difficult than it need be because of all this locking of the lips and thoughts.
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