Aunt Jane had her quiet moments. You don’t wear a dinner coat with a flower in your button-hole, or last night’s shirt, or very glossy boots, nor do you haunt the drawing-room in the evening, or play at being musical. Sometimes I tremble, Anna, to think how near I came to passing through life without a single glimpse, a moment’s revelation of this greatest and most awful of mysteries, the mystery of primaeval nature. “My dear,” she said, when she could get her breath, “you must come home at once. He disappeared after getting my foster sister Traci pregnant. Then she uttered a strangled, ‘Espéce de bête!’ and burst into tears. "I think you're all bewitched," she cried. Why didn’t I die? Why does God hate me so? Why does He not want me? I didn’t die because I’m weak, because I am cursed! I hate this poisoned world! But most of all.
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