"Give me the child, or—" As he spoke the door was thrown open, and Mrs. Haven’t I ever told you about them?” Michelle asked. She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver. She refused to sleep in the same room with him one night, kicking him in the shins. And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror. Why not? Imagine I’ve had a fit of hysteria—and that I’ve come round.
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