“You’ve no right to badger me like this, Veronica,” he said. She crawled over and caught at the skirts of this white woman who understood. I wonder what men would say if we threw the mask aside—if we really told them what WE thought of them, really showed them what WE were. Sure of foot, noiseless, he made the veranda and paused at the side of one of the screened windows. Sheppard, distractedly. But for a long time, anyhow, we lovers have to be as if we were no more than friends. One day I can be a Gothic chick, and the next day I’ll be Hitler Youth. For five minutes he has been trying to think of something to say.
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