[It pops out of her, more honest than she intended, or even quite knew.]
I was stupid. I'm sorry.
[It's not at all rote; there is something catechistic about the recital of her failings, but it is the rhythm of earnest belief, to a clicking metronome of faint desperation (though desperate for what, she couldn't say).]
no subject
[It pops out of her, more honest than she intended, or even quite knew.]
I was stupid. I'm sorry.
[It's not at all rote; there is something catechistic about the recital of her failings, but it is the rhythm of earnest belief, to a clicking metronome of faint desperation (though desperate for what, she couldn't say).]