"I shall want nothing more. Where the stuff came from was always a mystery. If you do not help me to read the riddle of yourself, Annabel, I think that very soon I shall be a candidate for the asylum. You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap. 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. I get along with my Mom sometimes, Lucy. What do you say?” “I agree,” Anna said coldly, “if you will make it three months.
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