Diana had already turned away, unwilling to expose the soreness of her distress to two mere children who couldn’t possibly understand. She didn’t look back to acknowledge Madoc’s sarcasm.
“One day,” said Cathy, looking up at the glider, “I’m going to get a pair of wings like that. Not in pink, though. I want to be a falcon, or a bird of paradise, or a golden oriole . . . or all three, and then some. I want to fly as high as I possibly can, and as far as I possibly can.”
Diana made a sound like a kitten in pain, but she was still determined to keep the full extent of her anguish from the boy and the girl.
“You will,” Madoc said, looking down at the silken crown of Cathy’s head and wondering whether Lenny could possibly be persuaded that an older and more passionate woman might be far more useful to his sentimental education than a girl his own age. “Once you’ve learned to fly, even the sky won’t be the limit.”
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