The small bed’s hospital corners had been put into disarray by Michelle’s crying fit. Women, she had been taught, who exposed the flesh of their bodies under the eyes of man were in a special catagory of the damned. It would be easy enough for me to write an eloquent letter about something else. Mary Remenham had passed on her every feature to the daughter whose advent had taken her from this world. We are the species, and maternity is our game; that’s all right, but nobody wants that admitted for fear we should all catch fire, and set about fulfilling the purpose of our beings without waiting for further explanations. "What's all this?" exclaimed Wood in amazement.
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