could
X4
clearly hear angry voices at the swimming pool, where Miranda and Annabel had joined their sister.
Sadly Buzz thought, hardly a cross word among them since they were children and now listen! And when their grandmother is on her deathbed! She knew that because the sisters were so close, they knew exactly where to jab at each other’s sensitive spots. They’re exactly the same as they were eighteen years ago, she thought, when she first went to live with Elinor. But now, instead of cheerfully bickering over hair ribbons or stolen pencils, they were quarrelling over a fortune.
At the side of the pool, Clare said crossly, “Of all the unctuous, hypocritical little creeps, you two are the worst! I never realized that your devotion to literature was so great, Annabel. Scholarships, prizes, and burs aries to perpetuate her life’s work, indeed!”
“Well, why nod” Annabel cried.
“It’s her money! I wanted to cheer her up, after you’d been such a bitch.”
“Well, why not?” Clare yelled.
“Because Gran’s life’s work has probably done more damage than she will ever realize!”
Her sisters groaned theatrically: together, they mimicked Clare’s high, soft voice: “Those sentimental novels give women readers a romantic, unrealistic, and dangerous view of LIFE.”
“Well, they do,” Clare said defensively.
“All those women readers have been taught to believe in happy endings. If they’re going through a tough period of life, they simply tell themselves that they’re in the middle of chapter five, but the hero will be waiting, to put things right, in chapter seven. They’ve been indoctrinated to be passive, to put up with their lives, not to try and change them.”
“What’s so terrible about escapist literature?” Annabel demanded.
“Most women read it and why not? I do.”
“Gran’s books sell by the million,” Miranda said, “so obviously a great many people enjoy them.” “Clare, why not check out your own reality,” Annabel suggested, “and stop yelling at us because of your domestic problems.”
“That’s probably why she’s in such a foul mood,” Miranda continued.
“I bet they’ve had a falling out, and she’s temporarily disenchanted. No longer believes in romance or true love.”
“True love died out with pterodactyls,” Clare said curtly.
“No it didn’t. But I’d like to know where to find it,” Miranda mused.
“That wonderful vibration between the two of you, “Annabel said dreamily.
“That stars-in-your-heart feeling, when you don’t need words to communicate…”
“I’ve never met a man who knew what I was thinking,” said Miranda, “and if there’s no need to communicate, how come you telephone New York so often? At Gran’s expense.1 Exasperated, Clare said, “I really don’t understand how you two can chat so flippantly about any form of love or communication after that hypocritical scene you just played. I was disgusted by your calculating flatteryP “And I was disgusted by your squeaky self-righteousness!” Miranda snapped.
“At least I didn’t suddenly turn into a ]over of literature, like Annabel!”
“I simply wanted to make her happy!” Annabel shouted.
“After you had upset her.”
“You know I can’t stand her Daddy-knows-best line,” Clare said.
“Who cares what you think, when she’s dying, you self righteous little prig!” Miranda said angrily.
I Clare burst into tears and ran indoors. Stumbling to her bedroom, she wondered, as she had so many times, how Miranda could, with so few words, goad her to feel such violence and passion. Once again Miranda
had reduced her, to a point where she felt as though she were naked and vulnerable, being mercilessly poked by an electric cattle prod.
The pool area was silent.
Buzz sighed. She left her office and returned to Elinor’s bedroom: Buzz liked to appear there unexpectedly, to make sure that when her back was turned, the nurse wasn’t slack.
White
X4
clearly hear angry voices at the swimming pool, where Miranda and Annabel had joined their sister.
Sadly Buzz thought, hardly a cross word among them since they were children and now listen! And when their grandmother is on her deathbed! She knew that because the sisters were so close, they knew exactly where to jab at each other’s sensitive spots. They’re exactly the same as they were eighteen years ago, she thought, when she first went to live with Elinor. But now, instead of cheerfully bickering over hair ribbons or stolen pencils, they were quarrelling over a fortune.
At the side of the pool, Clare said crossly, “Of all the unctuous, hypocritical little creeps, you two are the worst! I never realized that your devotion to literature was so great, Annabel. Scholarships, prizes, and burs aries to perpetuate her life’s work, indeed!”
“Well, why nod” Annabel cried.
“It’s her money! I wanted to cheer her up, after you’d been such a bitch.”
“Well, why not?” Clare yelled.
“Because Gran’s life’s work has probably done more damage than she will ever realize!”
Her sisters groaned theatrically: together, they mimicked Clare’s high, soft voice: “Those sentimental novels give women readers a romantic, unrealistic, and dangerous view of LIFE.”
“Well, they do,” Clare said defensively.
“All those women readers have been taught to believe in happy endings. If they’re going through a tough period of life, they simply tell themselves that they’re in the middle of chapter five, but the hero will be waiting, to put things right, in chapter seven. They’ve been indoctrinated to be passive, to put up with their lives, not to try and change them.”
“What’s so terrible about escapist literature?” Annabel demanded.
“Most women read it and why not? I do.”
“Gran’s books sell by the million,” Miranda said, “so obviously a great many people enjoy them.” “Clare, why not check out your own reality,” Annabel suggested, “and stop yelling at us because of your domestic problems.”
“That’s probably why she’s in such a foul mood,” Miranda continued.
“I bet they’ve had a falling out, and she’s temporarily disenchanted. No longer believes in romance or true love.”
“True love died out with pterodactyls,” Clare said curtly.
“No it didn’t. But I’d like to know where to find it,” Miranda mused.
“That wonderful vibration between the two of you, “Annabel said dreamily.
“That stars-in-your-heart feeling, when you don’t need words to communicate…”
“I’ve never met a man who knew what I was thinking,” said Miranda, “and if there’s no need to communicate, how come you telephone New York so often? At Gran’s expense.1 Exasperated, Clare said, “I really don’t understand how you two can chat so flippantly about any form of love or communication after that hypocritical scene you just played. I was disgusted by your calculating flatteryP “And I was disgusted by your squeaky self-righteousness!” Miranda snapped.
“At least I didn’t suddenly turn into a ]over of literature, like Annabel!”
“I simply wanted to make her happy!” Annabel shouted.
“After you had upset her.”
“You know I can’t stand her Daddy-knows-best line,” Clare said.
“Who cares what you think, when she’s dying, you self righteous little prig!” Miranda said angrily.
I Clare burst into tears and ran indoors. Stumbling to her bedroom, she wondered, as she had so many times, how Miranda could, with so few words, goad her to feel such violence and passion. Once again Miranda
had reduced her, to a point where she felt as though she were naked and vulnerable, being mercilessly poked by an electric cattle prod.
The pool area was silent.
Buzz sighed. She left her office and returned to Elinor’s bedroom: Buzz liked to appear there unexpectedly, to make sure that when her back was turned, the nurse wasn’t slack.
White
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