To ask questions,
even of herself, involved hearing a lot of answers and listening to
them. But answers were explanations, and explanations muddled and
obscured. Explanations were a new set of questions merely. People who
didn't know asked questions, and people who didn't understand gave
explanations. Aunt Emily explained--because she didn't understand.
Also, because she didn't understand, she didn't know. To ask a
question was the same thing as to explain it. Everything was one
thing. She, Maria, both knew and understood.
She did not say all this, she did not think it even; she just felt it
all: it was her feeling. Believing in her particular adventure of an
Extra Day, she had already experienced it. She had shared it with the
others too. It was _her_ Extra Day, so she could do with it what she
pleased. "They can have it," she gave the clock to understand. "I'm
going to sleep again." All life was an extra day to her.
She went to sleep; sleep, rather, came to her. Happy dreams amused and
comforted her. And, while she dreamed, the dawn slid higher up the
sky, ushering in--Sunday Morning.
CHAPTER XIX
--AS USUAL
Consciousness was first--unconsciousness; the biggest changes are
unconscious before they are conscious.
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