Twilight Sleep
planning, or imagining—conceive of her in any sort of durable human relations to any one or anything?
Her eyes opened and a languid curiosity floated up through them.
"That you? I must have fallen asleep. I was trying to count up the number of months we've been here, and numbers always make me go to sleep."
Nona laughed and sat down at the foot of the lounge. "Dear me—just as I thought you were beginning to be happy!"
"Well, isn't this what you call being happy—in the country?"
"Lying on your back, and wondering how many months there are in a week?"
"A week? Is it only a week? How on earth can you be sure, when one day's so exactly like another?"
"Tomorrow won't be. There's the blow-out for Amalasuntha, and dancing afterward. Mother's idea of the simple life."
"Well, all your mother's ideas are simple." Lita yawned, her pale pink mouth drooping like a faded flower. "Besides, it's ages till tomorrow. Where's your father? He was going to take me for a spin in the new Buick."
"He's broken his promise, then. Deserted us all and sneaked off to Greystock on his lone."
A faint redness rose to Lita's cheek-bones. "Greystock and Gladys Toy? Is that his idea of the simple life? About on a par with your mother's. . . Did you ever notice the Toy ankles?"
