They are their mother’s sons. “You underestimate your own sickness, and the ill humors that struck you may strike again. But she was relentless. He took some Oreos from the bottomless supply that stocked the cookie jar. ‘Mad as hatters!’ ‘It is you who is mad,’ mademoiselle told him crossly. ‘Inside, miss!’ ‘But what is it?’ ‘Quick! We need the major. The one profession, the one decent profession, I mean, for a woman—except the stage— is teaching, and there we trample on one another. “This is much the cheapest place I know of where things are moderately clean, and I should hate rooms all by myself.
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