Constance Blackwood

“...corner playing with his papers. “Will you let Uncle Julian have peanut brittle?” I asked Constance. “After his lunch,” Constance said. She took the groceries carefully from the bags; food of any kind was precious to Constance, and she always touched foodstuffs with quiet respect. I was not allowed to help; I was not allowed to prepare food, nor was I allowed to gather mushrooms, although I sometimes carried vegetables in...”

“...all the time. And I agree with him. Uncle Julian should be cheerful.” “Why should he be cheerful if he’s going to die?” “I haven’t been doing my duty,” Constance said. “I don’t know what that means.” “I’ve been hiding here,” Constance said slowly, as though she were not at all sure of the correct order of the words. She stood by the stove in the sunlight with color in her hair and eyes and not smiling, and she said slowly,...”

“...or two and said, “No, it’s all right; nothing here’s been touched.” She closed the cellar door again and made her way across to the sink to wash her hands and dry them on a dishtowel from the floor. “First, your breakfast,” she said. Jonas sat on the doorstep in the growing sunlight looking at the kitchen with astonishment; once he raised his eyes to me and I wondered if he thought that Constance and I had made this mess....”