‘It was a good chance for a new life,’ Joan explained, venturing to face Melusine again, ‘and Martha took it. Perhaps you’ve heard—?’ Well, you know, he had. There was nothing on her face to hint of the misery that brimmed her heart this morning. You will survive, mark my words. There, hanging among Ann Veronica’s more normal clothing, was a skimpy dress of red canvas, trimmed with cheap and tawdry braid, and short—it could hardly reach below the knee. Ownership seemed only a reasonable return for the cares and expenses of a daughter’s upbringing. I don’t know why that should be so acutely humiliating.
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