And for many years, that was the way it was. Ann Veronica looked down at her fingers on the claret-colored table-cloth. “And think of the ordinary wives and mothers, with their anxiety, their limitations, their swarms of children!” Mr. Friday was not a big dinner night at the Beck house. The door was fastened by a catch and a latch with an inside key, to which at night a chain and two bolts were added. She tended the twins while the Clotilde was in Sebastian’s private chambers, a place she gave a wide berth. Sanguine they were not. ‘But I was not there. The Morning Post was hungry for governesses and nursery governesses, but held out no other hopes; the Daily Telegraph that morning seemed eager only for skirt hands.
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