Constance is the historian from whom Babe has learned such tales by heart. Constance loves to dwell and sniffle and exult among dusty archives; she delves into the printed history of Girls School with single-minded passion. It helps her in the Admissions tours by which she makes her living, and, slowly, she's transcribing what she knows for the public and posterity. It pleases Babe to know that Constance intends to accord their strange life together a chapter all its own in her history of Girls School. Perhaps she wonders less than Constance does how it will end. Babe is not a reflective person; she assumes that Constance is doing the reflecting for both of them. But she is feeling these past few days that it's time to concentrate more, to overcome more--the cool clarion weather is declaring itself in this fashion--and she's thinking that she should put her mind to better use. More specifically, she's thinking about making Constance more central to the life of her mind. She's looking forward to this evening's laptop celebration of their private equinox: a fluttering deep inside her at the thought of what's to come makes her quicken her pace, and with her long legs it's as if she's almost running up the tree-lined hill to get to Damnation on the other side. From a darkened window of the Main Administration building, as she passes, the white-faced junkie headmistress is watching her: Babe knows this, feels it: as the smear on the glass slide comes to recognize the eye of the scientist, she's learned to know when she's fallen under that hot, discovery-hungry gaze. She disregards an interrupted signal.
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