“What do you think you are doing?” He asked. He lowered her neck before her, and she noticed a bizarre urge to bite him rising from her mind like an itch. Wood, despair will come over me; and, dear as this babe is to me, far dearer than my own wretched life, which I would lay down for him any minute, I have prayed to Heaven to remove him, rather than he should grow up to be a man, and be exposed to his father's temptations—rather than he should live as wickedly and die as disgracefully as his father. She felt the bedsprings coil as he moved from his seated position, entranced. It was time to disappear, no more Becks, no more Spaghetti Nights, no more afternoon kisses in the park with John Diedermayer. The sun was all but gone now, the horizon a deep shade of purple. Italians.
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