"I feel ridiculous."
"I upset you by talking about it. I made you selfconscious."
"It's not that. What bothers me is that I can't put into words the way I feel."
"These feelings are new to you. Not everything has to... be put into words."
"This will be fine," she said. "No reason to be right on top of the orchestra."
"What's that they're playing now?" I asked. "Debussy's La Mer. Do you like it?"
I settled down beside her. "I don't know much about this kind of music. I have to think about it."
"Don't think about it," she whispered. "Feel it. Let it sweep over you like the sea without trying to understand." She lay back on the grass and turned her face in the direction of the music.
"Never mind that," she insisted. "You're beginning to see and understand things." She waved her hand to take in all of the neon and glitter around us as we crossed over to Seventh Avenue. "You're beginning to see what's behind the surface of things. What you say about the parts having to belong together-that was a pretty good insight."