Harold Brodie is a louse and a lothario who cheats at cards and has a different girl in his rumble seat every week. That coupe of his is pos-i-tute-ly a petting palace. And he’s a terrible kisser to boot.” Evie’s parents stared in stunned silence. “Or so I’ve heard.

But if we are to remain a great empire, we must have a greater understanding of the hearts and minds of others.

But the past cannot be changed, and we carry our choices with us, forward, into the unknown. We can only move on.

When the music is over, she keeps her head down till she finds her seat again, and I wonder how many times each day she dies a little.

And for a moment, I understand that I have friends on this lonely path; that sometimes your place is not something you find, but something you have when you need it.

I know it. I know I shall make beastly mistakes, Father-" "The world does not forgive mistakes so quickly, my girl." He sounds bitter and sad. "If the world will not forgive me," I say softly, "I shall have to learn to forgive myself." He nods in understanding. "And how will you marry? Or do you intend to marry?" I think of Kartik, and tears threaten. "I shall meet someone one day, as Mother found you.

Because 'You're perfect just the way you are,' is what your guidance counselor says. And she's an alcoholic.