She stole her glances sideways like the rest of the women. ’ ‘We are not all of us so empty-headed, Melusine,’ pleaded Miss Froxfield. I would even have taken a place as waitress in a tea shop. Such an obvious ruse, but the boys and girls would defend their pride to the bitter end, the facade of study groups during rutting season. Ann Veronica jumped up to get her the cardtable. It had her raven locks, her pouting lips. It reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety. I have never wept since that day. “Stop! Don’t put your face there.
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