Sometimes her straying mind would become astonishingly active—embroidering bright and decorative things that she could say to Capes; sometimes it passed into a state of passive acquiescence, into a radiant, formless, golden joy. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying. She learned quickly, absorbing all she could as quickly as possible as her adoration grew for him. “Your father,” he said, “remarked that all’s well that ends well, and that he was disposed to let bygones be bygones.
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