The morning streaked the curtains orange and yellow. In her bedroom Laurence woke, hearing something, a low rumbling, in her mind, or beyond the window off towards the sea. Beethoven! She sat up with a start. Now here was a morningfor . . .
She quickly dressed and walked out. As soon as she hit the morning breeze, she remembered a line of her fathers: Even the air is water. God! Her mind was turning. Maybe she would go mad. Then what would she do? Elf all my hairs in knots, she thought with a giggle, and ran on towards the beach. She did not touch the sand but skirted the borderline of the grass and weeds; raced over the fields; then circled back towards the house, announcing herself gaily: Laurence! La Reine savance! Laurence! The house didnt answer. She flew over the front step and then inside, banging the screen door. The sounds subsided. She went in to eat breakfast.
1965, 1966, or 1967