‘It looked to me as if he was playing games with Madame Valade,’ Lucilla said frankly. Mary Lucia was branded “the earliest riser and the best at keeping up with her chores” by the formidable Sisters at the orphanage. Even the teachers were getting restless, the seniors gnawing hard at the bit as graduation teased. The dress came to her only too manifestly unwashed from its former wearer; even the under-linen they gave her seemed unclean. She leaped to a world of shabby knowledge, of furtive base realizations. “Don’t be childish, Annabel. Help—should she need it—from the natives was out of the question. She must learn wisdom—as God pleases.
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