I borrowed forty pounds from Mr. Bête, she told herself fiercely. "But I wish her hand had been as deadly as yours. It has something to do with the fact that my Mom had them when she was only seventeen. This was in Tennessee. And what on earth do you want to darken your eyebrows and use so much make-up for at your age? You’re exactly twenty-three, and you’re got up as much as a woman of forty-five. Sorry. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery.
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