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. But never had the hand touched her with a father's caress; never had he taken her into his arms; never had he kissed her. In nearly every speech she heard was the same implication of great and necessary changes in the world—changes to be won by effort and sacrifice indeed, but surely to be won. I trust you will not accuse me of discourtesy if I express my pleasure that henceforth our ways will lie apart. ” She smiled, sure of herself beyond any pretending, into his troubled eyes. The wine was sweetened with cinnamon and cloves and rare edible flowers, which her father had instructed her not to drink excessively of. She was frightfully hungry. “No, no,” she cried.
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