She was boastful, vain, not entirely serious perhaps; she often said things simply to hear how the words struck the air, what sort of spin they had. How they affected others—forcing them to laugh, or to arch their eyebrows quizzically, even to ask her to repeat herself, they hadn’t quite understood. (Marya had long ago seen that to be liked demanded a sort of maidenly passivity, a hopefulness, she had very little talent for; but to be disliked—it was not only easier in many ways, but yielded a queer sort of pleasure.)

She didn’t hate her family, didn’t feel superior to them, but . . .

It was true that she and Wilma no longer got along, but . . .

She liked her uncle, and she liked Alice, and her brothers were all right (though in truth Davy was becoming a problem), but, still, she wanted to get away; she wanted a room that so much belonged to her she could shut the door and lock it and no one would even know it was locked.

All this didn’t mean, she protested, that she didn’t love Emmett. She half lay in his arms, her mouth pressed against his, for what seemed to be hours. His greedy clutching hands and his impatience with her were immensely flattering. If you love me, why don’t you want to marry me? Emmett asked. As he had been asking, If you love me why don’t you want to sleep with me . . . ?

Marya tried to tell him, I don’t want to sleep with anyone.

She tried to tell him, I love you but I don’t want to sleep with anyone. I don’t want to.

But he didn’t understand; he was hurt; and then again he was angry—one night, a week before he drove her to Port Oriskany (he insisted upon driving her, he didn’t want her to take a Greyhound bus), he took her head in both hands and began to shake it up and down, and from side to side, as if he wanted to snap her neck. She’d been so frightened her knees had buckled; she couldn’t even scream. She thought, My God, he’s going to kill me and it will be my fault.

Afterward Emmett said, flushed, ashamed, “You don’t want to lie to me, Marya. About loving me or not. Because I can’t stand to be lied to. Do you understand?”