"Yes."
"You're a fool," Anne said. "Listen to me. _Love_ a man? God! You'll
see. After him, there'll be another and another, and--just like
Rosy--you'll watch 'em leave you and laugh at you until finally you're
hurt so bad you don't think you can stand being hurt any more, and then
along comes another one, and it starts all over again, and then one
night you take a razor blade and go to the sink and stick out your
throat and...."
"No! No! You're wrong! He's not like the rest!"
Anne leaned back carelessly, resting, propped on one hand. "See. You
know I'm right, already."
"You're not!"