It was as if acting crazy, and taking crazy risks, had completely freed her of any obligation to actually become crazy. It might sound rather sappy, but really and truly, Jerry had made her a free woman. She was dirty and she was broke and she smelled bad most of the time, but she was free and in love. She’d spent most of her life in a fierce, determined, losing battle to make herself behave and make sense and be good and be happy; and then she’d met Jerry Mulcahey and had given up the war. And when all that old barbed wire snapped loose inside of her, she’d discovered surprising reservoirs of simple decency and goodwill in herself. She wasn’t even half as bad as she’d thought she was. She wasn’t crazy, she wasn’t wicked, she wasn’t even particularly dangerous. She was a mature adult woman who wasn’t afraid of herself, and could even be a source of real strength to other people. She could give and sacrifice for other people, and love and be loved, without any fear or any mean calculation. And she acknowledged all this, and was grateful for it.