‘Lucky I have you to keep me from Bedlam, then. She fell into a deep delirium, whispering hoarsely to her dead mother, cursing God in Heaven, cursing her doctor, cursing herself as apparitions of devils and demons pulled at her with yellow ochre hands. To the poor carpenter it seemed an endless distance. “TROUSERS!” she whispered. “What else was I to do?” For some seconds she stood watching him and both were thinking very quickly. One day I can be a Gothic chick, and the next day I’ll be Hitler Youth. She came along with the fluttering assurance of some tall ship. ‘You’re only making things worse, you little idiot.
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