[He remembers the soft resistance of her skin when he pressed the knife's point to it, saying it won't take but a second just a second then I can do mine I can do mine then. And she, lying on her back in the grass still damp, all right can you do yours by yourself. And he, I'm not crying Caddy, with the honeysuckle clawing at his throat and driving him mad. The words come tumbling out in a rush, the only indication of his churning thoughts while his expressions is still near placid.]
I was drowning. I had drowned. Or I thought I had.
no subject
I was drowning. I had drowned. Or I thought I had.
[He had meant to, in any case.]