Her pat answer to all inquiries was, “I let my sister Shari make me over,” while she kept from staring at her own reflection in the shiny shoes past her bare knees. She had gone into Morgan's one afternoon for a bag of salt. Ann Veronica forgot him as soon as she was through the gate, and her face resumed its expression of stern preoccupation. What a pity! For all her ignorance of material things—the human inventions which served the physical comforts of man—how much she knew about man himself! She had seen him bereft of all those spiritual props which permit man to walk on two feet instead of four—broken, without resilience. And how much I owe you, too, dearest Winifred, for your kindness and attention. “I don’t mind, of course, your seeing her sometimes, still there are differences— differences in social atmospheres.
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