" "My son!" echoed the widow, trembling. Her naked body was an abomination of caked filth and sagging tubes for breasts. She could not move. One realized indeed then where the differences lay; the tender curves about Anna’s mouth transformed into hard sharp lines in Annabel’s, the eyes of one, truthful and frank, the other’s more beautiful but with less expression—windows lit with dazzling light, but through which one saw—nothing. But the world didn’t do that. . Daughters were not like sons. “Vee!” said Miss Stanley, “you hear what your father says!” Miss Stanley struggled with emotion. “I did not recognize him,” Anna answered.
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