The Weed That Strings the Hangman's Bag

Father paid us no attention. He had already retreated into his own world: a world of colored inks and perforations-per-inch; a world of albums and gum arabic; a world where our Gracious Majesty, King George the Sixth, was firmly ensconced on both the throne and the postage stamps of Great Britain; a world in which sadness--and reality--had no place.

For a long while

as if it were

My curiosity would have to wait.

No, you didn't think, did you? You never do.

I should have guessed.

That'll be the thirsty Friday

The place grows shabbier before one's very eyes.

eyes."
I did not feel it my place to tell her that

"Yes, Miss Felicity," Dogger said, a wicker hamper already under each arm and a suitcase in each hand.