“You come into these sordid surroundings—you mustn’t mind my calling them sordid—and it makes them seem as though they didn’t matter. It was very much like a real house, with one central stalagmite that looked like a column and a waterfall that served when she wanted to bathe. The sun was all but gone now, the horizon a deep shade of purple. One day her mother swept into the bedroom of the family townhouse, sweeping across the floor with a bundle in her arms. ‘Still—here? Wasting your—time. Wood. I wished to control the weather, to possess infinite wealth, and to understand the substances of the earth. . \"Yes, I'd love to go. White?” she asked, laughing. I finally got my own set of house keys when I turned eleven.
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