" "You paint yourself worse than you are, dear Mrs. Balanced on his nose were enormous tortoise-shell spectacles. It isn’t illusions—for us. ” 243 She felt a mixture of embarrassment, humiliation, and pride well up in her cheeks, flushing them. She cried for hours but would not scream as her mother was packed into a marble coffin. ” They loitered under trees, they sat on mossy banks they gossiped on friendly benches, they came back to lunch at the “Star and Garter,” and talked their afternoon away in the garden that looks out upon the crescent of the river. A woman indeed this to love and be loved, beautiful, graceful, gay.
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