An Interlude

           

           “Tothinkthatthisismytwentiethbirthday,andthatI’veleftmyteensbehindmeforever,”saidAnne,whowascurleduponthehearth-rugwithRustyinherlap,toAuntJamesinawhowasreadinginherpetchair.Theywerealoneinthelivingroom.StellaandPriscillahadgonetoacommitteemeetingandPhilwasupstairsadorningherselfforaparty.

           “Isupposeyoufeelkindof,sorry”saidAuntJamesina.“Theteensaresuchanicepartoflife.I’mgladI’venevergoneoutofthemmyself.”

           Annelaughed.

           “Youneverwill,Aunty.You’llbeeighteenwhenyoushouldbeahundred.Yes,I’msorry,andalittledissatisfiedaswell.MissStacytoldmelongagothatbythetimeIwastwentymycharacterwouldbeformed,forgoodorevil.Idon’tfeelthatit’swhatitshouldbe.It’sfullofflaws.”

           “So’severybody’s,”saidAuntJamesinacheerfully.“Mine’scrackedinahundredplaces.YourMissStacylikelymeantthatwhenyouaretwentyyourcharacterwouldhavegotitspermanentbentinonedirectionor‘tother,andwouldgoondevelopinginthatline.Don’tworryoverit,Anne.DoyourdutybyGodandyourneighborandyourself,andhaveagoodtime.That’smyphilosophyandit’salwaysworkedprettywell.Where’sPhilofftotonight?”

           “She’sgoingtoadance,andshe’sgotthesweetestdressforitcreamyyellowsilkandcobwebbylace.Itjustsuitsthosebrowntintsofhers.”

           “There’smagicinthewords‘silk’and‘lace,’isn’tthere?”saidAuntJamesina.“Theverysoundofthemmakesmefeellikeskippingofftoadance.AndYELLOWsilk.

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