What Does He Do, Clarice? What Is

I Think It's Easy To Mistake Understanding For Empathy - We Want Empathy So Badly. Maybe Learning To Make That Distinction Is Part Of Growing Up. It's Hard And Ugly To Know Somebody Can Understand You Without Even Liking You.

It Occurred To Dr. Lecter In The Moment That With All His Knowledge And Intrusion, He Could Never Entirely Predict Her, Or Own Her At All. He Could Feed The Caterpillar, He Could Whisper Through The Chrysalis; What Hatched Out Followed Its Own Nature And Was Beyond Him. He Wondered If She Had The .45 On Her Leg Beneath The Gown. Clarice Starling Smiled At Him Then, The Cabochons Caught The Firelight And The Monster Was Lost In Self-congratulation At His Own Exquisite Taste And Cunning.

In Her Way, She Was A Hard One. Faith In Any Sort Of Natural Justice Was Nothing But A Night Light; She Knew Of That. Whatever She Did, She Would End The Same Way With Everyone Does: Flat On Her Back With A Tube In Her Nose, Wondering, "is This All?

And Be Grateful. Our Scars Have The Power To Remind Us That The Past Was Real.

But The Face On The Pillow, Rosy In The Firelight, Is Certainly That Of Clarice Starling, And She Sleeps Deeply, Sweetly, In The Silence Of The Lambs.