" Something in the child's voice, something in her manner, warned the spinster that her well-meaning inquisitiveness had received a set-back and that it would be dangerous to press it forward again. Why must her old nurse discover her precisely at this moment? ‘What are you at now, may I ask?’ Martha glared at the footman. “Of course!” he said. But I was portentous, I can assure you. She directed him to an old part of the highway, a featureless stretch of old farmhouses capped in snow, with the occasional working silo. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise.
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