“You still know that boy. He was very angry at fourteen, fifteen, in summer and winter, at home or in the world. So angry that his face contorted in photos. The camera was a question and his face did not know the answer.”

“It was so much easier to be angry. Being angry made him feel strong, even though-- and this contradiction did nothing to diminish his anger-- he was angry only because his position was so weak.”

“Yes?""When you said you weren't angry...""Yes?""Were you?""I was rather annoyed," he admitted."But not angry?" She sounded as if she didn't believe him."Believe me, Henry, when I get angry, you'll know.""What happens?"His eyes clouded over slightly before he answered. "You don't want to know."She believed him.”

“She took his length gently between her hands, her arms resting on his thighs, and looked up into his face. “I’m very, very angry with you.”And she opened her mouth over him.”

“Her face was working and twitching with passion, but his looked up at the sky, still quiet, neither angry nor afraid, but a little sad.”

“I took one look at his composed face and know he doesn’t understand,because if he did understand, he would be weeping, too, for this boy who loved a world that never loved him.”