I was picking blackberries when I thought of the strange girl at the mental hospital.
Beautiful she was quietly beautiful. Yes and apparently nothing the matter with
her except that she was scared to go outside, and scared to go indoors. And so she just sat there in a chair by the entrance door she was there when I went in with the
library trolley : she was there when I came out. But that was thirty years ago. Odd
that I should have thought of her just then.
