She read beautifully because the fixed form of the poem signified nothing. “You come into these sordid surroundings—you mustn’t mind my calling them sordid—and it makes them seem as though they didn’t matter. But I don’t think she lays hold of one so. “Your affectionate “FATHER. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. The iron slipped from his face, leaving it blank with astonishment. At this point a carriage with servants in sumptuous liveries was stationed. To my loving parents and brothers, and my Aunts, Gail and Barb.
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