“Voices beat on her memory but they made hollow meaningless noises. Something that came to nothing went on and on. ‘Open the gate, Ellen!’ It was nothing but sound running up and down. What for? What for? On and on. Thus until sleep, the comforter spoke, running gentle hands down her tired nerves and sad thought. ‘It’s no knowen how lovely I am. I’m a-liven. My heart beats on and on and my skin laps around me and my blood runs up and it runs down, shut in me. It’s unknowen how lovely.”
