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NGELA Bish was now twenty. Doesn’t that make you homesick, girls? Never mind; try to be brave. Into all lives some rain must fall—some girls must be over thirty. Anyway, if you’re not twenty your daughter may be.

Angie was already five feet long, including the two she had to start with, although it is true they had chilblains. Still, she was a pretty girl, if you didn’t look very hard. Her eyes, though small, were plainly visible and her mouth was similar to those found on some of our best known eaters. Her ingrowing chin, however, was sometimes mistaken for a lower lip.

“My one hope,” Angie’s mother had said, as she lay drowning of acute perspiration, “is that you won’t be like other girls. I want you to make something of yourself, Angie dear—something perfect!” And 75