For three years I had been borrowing, in small amounts, at interest, to cover the ordinary costs of my own daughter’s life, in order to send a larger amount, on time, every week, to a house with restaurant coupons on the table.

I had called one of those things necessary and the other one help, and on the page, in my own records, in my own handwriting on the envelope, the distinction simply dissolved.

There was only money, going out of a short account, in two directions, and only one of the two directions had ever once said thank you, and it was not the one with my daughter in it.

Are you still going to ask them, Marcus said.