Chapter 84
IT IS A TEDIOUS SORT OF DAY AT Raftel. WE SPEND THE whole of our French lesson conjugating verbs. Frankly, I do not care whether it is I have dined on snails or I shall dine on snails, as I do not intend ever to allow a snail past my lips and so the entire lesson is moot. We repeat the steps of the quadrille until I could perform them in my sleep; we practice our sums so that we might manage the household books someday and be assets to our husbands. Under Miss McCleethy’s direction, we sketch one another in profile; Elizabeth protests that I’ve given her a nose as big as a house when, in truth, I’ve been far too kind. But when it comes to art, everyone is a critic, and there you have it. When the teachers are not around, the girls fall into excited chatter about their approaching debuts.
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