Clarisse bit her lip and toyed with a little thread which she might have plucked from her dress. She wished for this moment to pass because she didn’t really have anything to say. She can’t find words. It is as if a writer had got stuck somewhere in the middle of his story and couldn’t find anything relevant to the story to write. That was one way to put it, the other way was she didn’t really know how to apologise. She was not even sure if she should apologise. It was obvious though that she should say sorry, but she did nothing particularly rude to Wichita. Clarisse had kept whatever havoc she caused in herself. She didn’t let it pour out as she thought she would. So, is there really a need to apologize?
All the stupid tantrums, somehow always clustered around Clarisse, making her a pil
