Supper was spaghetti and Italian sausage that night. She was a lone white woman, therefore marked. Sometimes she missed her cue and nodded affirmatively when the gesture should have been the reverse; and Prudence would send her a sharp glance of disapproval. Ann Veronica watched her face, vaguely sympathizing with her, vaguely disliking her physical insufficiency and her convulsive movements, and the fine eyebrows were knit with a faint perplexity. Find your man, that’s the rule. She had slept badly at first in a long chair next to the fire waiting for him to return, but caught on after that.
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