It reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety. Why, that boy could hide for thirty years—without the girl. Something changed for her. Sometimes at sea a skipper will order his men to trim, batten down the hatches, and clear the deck of all litter. She had a feeling as though something had dropped from her eyes, as though she had just discovered herself for the first time—discovered herself as a sleepwalker might do, abruptly among dangers, hindrances, and perplexities, on the verge of a cardinal crisis. And Pottiswick, of course.
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