The mother, Cathy Beck, was as patient and as charitable of an individual that Lucy had ever known, a big kindly Polish-American woman with the heart of an angel. These sisters moved in a grown-up world inaccessible to Ann Veronica’s sympathies, and to a large extent remote from her curiosity. Its very calmness was frightful. I asked several shopkeepers the same question: ‘Do you know the blue-eyed maid with the curly brown hair? She has a mother who is fair with the same eyes. That was the wonder of these stories; one lived in them. It was very pretty and very dainty while it lasted, but we played it with our eyes open, and we perfectly understood the game—both of us. I’m rather scornful. His eyebrows arched, knotting in the middle.
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