A young woman with a white badge on her arm stood and counted the sections as they entered their vans. You are all that I am or hope to be—the celestial atom God put into me at the beginning. If I did not love you so much I believe I could win you by sheer force of character, for people tell me I am naturally of the dominating type. But in between these wider phases of comparative confidence were gaps of disconcerting doubt, when the universe was presented as making sinister and threatening faces at her, defying her to defy, preparing a humiliating and shameful overthrow. Maybe half a year, counting this summer.
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