Mother and Son. She refused to accept her fate, but what is it that she could do about it? Night after night she invented alternatives. His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. But here the resemblance stopped. ’ ‘Eh bien? And so?’ ‘He says as how he’s going to take you with him to France with his new wife.
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