For a second time Ann Veronica wanted to swear at the universe. But they did what they could for her. She washed her face twice after making smudgy eyeshadow and lipstick errors. To have spoken lightly on such a subject a few hours ago would have seemed incredible. Sometimes her straying mind would become astonishingly active—embroidering bright and decorative things that she could say to Capes; sometimes it passed into a state of passive acquiescence, into a radiant, formless, golden joy. Daughters were not like sons.
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