He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. “Do you play an instrument?” “I play the fiddle sometimes. It did seem germane to the matter that so many of the people “in the van” were plain people, or faded people, or tired-looking people. I never see them, they never even call. She changed her mind that day, as her mother Marina had predicted. You must be lonely here with only a few men friends. He wondered if these abnormal mental activities presaged illness. He disappeared and she was finally convicted for past child abuse, but because she was diagnosed as schizophrenic they put her in a state mental ward instead of jail. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.
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