"He'll get better."
They were in the old-fashioned room, Raul in seersucker trousers and plaid shirt, Lucienne in gay clothes, a turtleshell comb over one ear, sandals laced high up her ankles.
"I suppose you love Chico in a way. I wish we could keep all the things we love," she said, with quiet passion.
"I wish we could too," he said.
"I hope we're lucky, you and I," she said.
"Yes ... lucky, with you, Lucienne. It hasn't been that way with Angelina. She's had her secrets. They are destroying her.... I'm not sure there can be any adjustment. She goes to her room and locks her door. She walks about, talks to herself, comes downstairs with a strangeness about her. I—I think she's out of her mind. Strange ... how she writes. She acts as if I didn't exist, as if I were half alive...."
She was surprised by his candor, by his revelations, by his concern.
"Will the change to Guadalajara help?"
"I doubt it. I really don't know. She may go mad."
"Darling, hush, I think you're needlessly alarmed."