She thought of her father in the garden, and of her aunt with her Patience, as she had seen them—how many ages was it ago? Just one day intervened. She also knew that he was the type who would not make a single physical overture until she pushed the correct buttons. He smiled. The thought of them distressed her without subtracting at all from the oceans of happiness in which she swam. Little by little, she stopped hating him. That bruise will answer the same purpose. It is the immediate inspiration of confidence; it alleviates pain, because we know by that smile that pain is soon to leave us; it becomes the bulwark against our depressive thoughts of death; and it is the promise that we still have a long way to go before we reach the Great Terminal.
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