SIMON remembered Sarah screaming when he tried to turn off the television set. The thing had captured her and anyone who laid a hand on it was subject to a full-scale tantrum with kettle drums and cannon. She was, for some reason, inordinately fond of Daffy Duck, although the Road Runner was also a fa?vorite. She was queenly in expressing herself. At two, she produced a sentence that Simon still marveled at. When events were not marching to her satisfaction she would say, gravely, "You are making me angry." After this sentence joined the households sentence-hoard Simon ceased to worry about language acquisition. In the early mornings she would rush into the bedroom and climb into bed with Simon and his wife, settling in between them with soft little groans of satisfaction. When she grew up, she said, she wanted to be a balle?rina. Her mother made her a tutu out of some pink gauzy material and she pranced about the house in this, white Danskins, and a cardboard tiara on which gold stars had been pasted, exhibiting all the grace of a tall gesturing cactus. When she was fourteen she was picked up for shoplifting, frightened as thoroughly as possible, and released. The item in question was a tube of lip gloss called Penumbra.

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