It's true, too.
ANABEL. Yes, till the life-work collapses.
WINIFRED. Oh, it can't collapse. I can't believe it could collapse.
Do tell me about something else you made, which you loved--something
you sculpted. Oh, it makes my heart burn to hear you!--Do you think
I might call you Anabel? I should love to. You do call me Winifred
already.
ANABEL. Yes, do.
WINIFRED. Won't you tell me about something else you made--something
lovely?
ANABEL. Well, I did a small kitten--asleep--with its paws crossed.
You know, Winifred, that wonderful look that kittens have, as if they
were blown along like a bit of fluff--as if they weighed nothing at
all, just wafted about--and yet so ALIVE--do you know---?
WINIFRED. Darlings--darlings--I love them!
ANABEL. Well my kitten really came off--it had that quality. It
looked as if it had just wafted there.
WINIFRED. Oh, yes!--oh, I know! And was it in clay?
ANABEL. I cut it in soft grey stone as well. I love my kitten. An
Armenian bought her.
WINIFRED. And where is she now?
ANABEL. I don't know--in Armenia, I suppose, if there is such a
place. It would have to be kept under glass, because the stone
wouldn't polish--and I didn't want it polished. But I dislike
things under glass--don't you?
WINIFRED. Yes, I do. We had a golden clock, but Gerald wouldn't
have the glass cover, and Daddy wouldn't have it without.
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