” “Very well,” Anna said. Her aunt returned before the packing was done, and Ann Veronica lunched with an uneasy sense of bag and hold-all packed up-stairs and inadequately hidden from chance intruders by the valance of the bed. “We are not the sort that goes under,” said Ann Veronica, holding her hands so that the red reflections vanished from her eyes. She cried for hours but would not scream as her mother was packed into a marble coffin. She grew attached to a pair of twins, a boy named Fritz and a girl named Anna, belonging to an auburn-haired Viennese prostitute named Clotilde.
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