She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. His room was last at the end of one winding corner. Before she put on her sun-helmet, she paused before the mirror. There were moments when she doubted whether the whole mass of movements and societies and gatherings and talks was not simply one coherent spectacle of failure protecting itself from abjection by the glamour of its own assertions. “I’ve tried to make words tell it. ” “We’ve both fallen on our feet! We’re the rarest of mortals! The real thing! There’s not a compromise nor a sham nor a concession between us.
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