Her mother informed her of the betrothal on the first painful day of her menarche, shortly after her eleventh birthday. Both arm-chairs had been moved a little so as to face each other on either side of the fender, and in the circular glow of the green-shaded lamp there lay, conspicuously waiting, a thick bundle of blue and white papers tied with pink tape. It was after all a momentary affair. “Grail!” said Ann Veronica, and then: “Oh, yes—of course! Anything but a holy one, I’m afraid. Can you imagine how dreadful it must be for them? Most of them arrive here almost penniless. I’d rather not go,” she added. The twins weren’t far behind, they got put into the psych ward too. Leave the means to me.
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