She cried out with the pain of it. Perhaps these few words were the first real conscious words he had uttered in days. I want to shout! I want to sing! I am glad! I am glad to be alive because you are alive! I am glad to be a woman because you are a man! I am glad! I am glad! I am glad! I thank God for life and you. Occasionally the canvas snapped as the wind veered slightly. 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. See how he gets on, father," he added, appealing to Wood: "the box seems to grow under his hands. “Don’t you get it, Lucy? I’ve always thought he was an idiot.
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