Tamara de Lempicka Women at the Bath paintingTamara de Lempicka Girl Sleeping paintingTamara de Lempicka Femme a la Colombe painting
Creamhair tugged one of my curls. "That's what I mean."
I caught myself nibbling on a dandelion and spat it away. "Suppose I want to be a buck like Brickett Ranunculus?"
She looked at me with pity. "You can never be a real buck, Billy. A time will come sooner or later -- if it hasn't already -- I can't explain just what I mean. . . Oh flunk Max Spielman!" She began weeping again, as she did frequently, and stroked my forehead. "But it's not for me to criticize him, goodness knows! He did what he thought was best -- and who's to say you wouldn't've been better off if I'd never heard about you?" She blew her nose briskly on one of her tasty tissues. "Well, you are what you are, and you shouldn't have to be something you don't like. If you decide to go on living with Dr. Spielman and your friends -- which might very well be the best thing -- why, then it wouldn't be right for me to see you any more, because. . . to me you'll never be a goat! Do you understand? To me you'll always be a little boy. . . who's been dreadfully mistreated. . ."
I understood only a part of what she said, but the tenor of
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