‘Who is to be angry with you now?’ ‘Miss Prudence, that’s who,’ stated Joan bluntly. Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth. “Now look here, Veronica, let us be plain with each other. With what airs we human atoms invest ourselves! What ridiculous fancies of our importance! We believe we have destinies, when we have only destinations: that we are something immortal, when each of us is in truth only the repository of a dream. The girl suppressed a chuckle that would have been inexplicable. It had been Ann Veronica’s lot as the youngest child to live in a home that became less animated and various as she grew up. “It was my sister Anna.
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