She practiced swaddling on a doll, pretending to pat the head of her imaginary infant boy. I dare say anything seemed better to her than the nun’s habit she had been obliged to use. So this was what it was all about. But it’s love you should’ve had when you were tiny and I didn’t give it to you. ‘Who telled you that?’ ‘Do not ask me impertinent questions, but only go you and fetch this daughter here to me. Rummage, my boy, do. She had neither the semi-boisterousness of the average American girl nor the chilling insolence of the English.
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