“She lay burrowed beneath the bedclothes, staring at the frost flowers on the window, and wishing in a most unchristianlike way that it would turn out to be any day other than Sunday. Sunday meant church service at St. John’s, standing in the snow on the porch after the service, writhing under the patronizing remarks of Lady Worthing and her daughters while her mama smiled and simpered. Sunday was also Mama’s “visit to the poor” day where, in her turn, she could enjoy her weekly luxury of patron...izing her social inferiors. Sunday meant a heavy stolid meal under the glare of her taciturn stockbroker father and then back out into the cold again for evening service. With a sigh, she threw back the bedclothes and scurried, shivering, to crack the ice on her pitcher of washing water on the stand. Her little white face overshadowed by an enormous pair of gray eyes, stared back at her from the looking glass over the washstand. Kitty struggled into her camisole and stays, shivering at the bite of the icy whalebone against her body.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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