I was a little piece of untrained Nature.
And I am unable to judge which is the more savagely forlorn: the starved-hearted child, or the woman, young and all alone.
The little wild stubborn child felt things and wanted things. She did not know that she felt things and wanted things.
Now I feel and I want things and I know it with burning vividness.
The little vicious Mary MacLane suffered, but she did not know that she suffered. Yet that did not make the suffering less.
And she reached out with a little sunburned hand to touch and take something.
But the sunburned little hand remained empty. There was nothing for it. No one had anything to put into it.
The little wild creature wanted to be loved; she wanted something to put in her hungry little heart.
But no one had anything to put into a hungry little heart.