She was posing before the mirror, critically, miserably, defensively, and perhaps bewilderedly. 167 “True love is forever, isn’t it?” It was something a child would say, a phrase she had seen scratched on bathroom walls and maple trees, but it made her sad. Most of the horses were dead, all but three stallions and two mares left among what was once a thriving stable. He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers—she turned at once to look at him. "Strange!" he continued, as if talking to himself. ” Inwardly, she laughed at the idea of him trying to beat on her, flailing, his arms akimbo.
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