Mother. Do you realize you’re rich enough to buy the City Senate?
Yes, Jane. A number of times over.
I’m so glad, Mother, because that’s exactly what I want you to do.
Jane, I don’t understand you at all.
No, Mother. You never understood me. But let’s be adult about this.
That would be an excellent plan, dear.
The reason I want you to buy the Senate, Mother, is so that I can safely publish this manuscript.
Perhaps you’d like to tell me what the manuscript contains?
You’re quite right, Mother, it mentions you. Not in a very luminous light. However, I can change all the names. Put your house, for example, somewhere else, instead of where it is. And so on.
Jane. I should like to know why you want to publish.
Not to make money. Not to discredit anyone. Not to inflame the poor, of whom I’m now one. In fact, I really don’t know. It isn’t melancholia, either, or bitterness. Even exhibitionism. But this crazy thing happened. You’d react to the last chapter, Mother, really you would. Perhaps you ought to read it…