“Why so sad?" Zach queries in fairy-tale tones. "Rachel?"

"O my brother Ivanushka," she recites. "A heavy stone is round my throat, silken grass grows through my fingers, yellow sand lies on my breast."

"That's perishing gloomy," Zach remarks.

"It ends happily though. Gracious! Everything sounds depressing this morning," adds Rachel. "There's a teacher at my school, she's very young, but she goes, Gracious! Just like a dowager. Makes me laugh. Except this morning. I can't help it. I am too depressed. I hate those voices so much. In the Gardens."

"Stop listening," Zach scolds and put his hands in her hair—silken grass grows through his fingers.”