She leaped to a world of shabby knowledge, of furtive base realizations. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying. She got into rows through meddling with their shoes and tennis-rackets, and had moments of carefully concealed admiration when she was privileged to see them just before her bedtime, rather radiantly dressed in white or pink or amber and prepared to go out with her mother. “What was that?” she asked sharply. "Solid ivory!" he said aloud; "solid from dome to neck! That's James Boyle in the family group.
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