The sky was dripping a wet, slow rain that had forced the city’s inhabitants into taxicabs and dingy cafeterias, the day wholly ruined for all except the insane schizophrenics and her. We are the species, and maternity is our game; that’s all right, but nobody wants that admitted for fear we should all catch fire, and set about fulfilling the purpose of our beings without waiting for further explanations. G. I was compelled to run away. In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut. 1. ” “It gives in a nutshell the miracle of art and the imagination. 260 “Can you turn me into one?” “Yes, I can turn you into one tonight.
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