After that, Carrie could never feel quite as safe at home. Beatty had always had to have the best and always, as Wolcott used to say, at the expense of someone else.
* * *
Calcutta remained stifling, in every sense, but Trix had found a solution to her difficulties. A new outlet. No more tears and exclamations over Jack and over her writing. She was more at peace than she’d been for some time. Also, more hopeful, even exultant. Experimenting with the ‘automatic writing’ that everyone was talking about, seemed to have released something in her. And it came to her so easily. Of course, Mama had always prided herself on having ‘the sight’, but as a daughter she’d looked on the claim with scepticism. Be that as it might, here she was, picking up messages and scraps of poetry from who knew wh
