“No, listen,” I said. “Imagine you are in an ancient aeroplane. The altimeter shows 5,000 meters. A wing breaks; you are dashing down like.⁠ ⁠… And on the way you calculate: ‘Tomorrow from twelve to two⁠ ⁠… from two to six⁠ ⁠… and dinner at five!’ Would it not be absurd?”

The little blue flowers began to move and bulge out. What if I were made of glass and he could have seen what was going on within me at that moment? If he knew that some three or four hours later.⁠ ⁠…