“About you.”
I think she had told this gentle lie more than a thousand times. But I am sure that the recording angel has not got it down against her once.
“But I was happy.”
“Yes—you—were—happy—dear—dear sis.”
“And so you never saw me after that—nor Hiliary, nor the babies—”
“But, sis, dear, I could touch you all, and hear your voices, and there was so much to remember. You know that I was happier after my blindness than before.”
“Yes, I know. And I cannot understand that.”
That, too, she would know only in that One Place where there are no secrets.
III
THE GOLDEN TEAPOT WITH THE BLUE ROSE
Now they had a teapot. It had come, like everything else in that house, from their ancestors. It was not like their other china, blue, but golden—a coppery gold under an iridescent glaze that made it look like real gold at a little distance. And this teapot was not tall—and commonplace. It was low and long from handle to spout—and oval—with vertical fluting. And on each side was sculptured an imposing medallion within which was a blue rose.