“Stop it, Mom,” Poppy says, staying planted in her seat. “Don’t defend her just because you’d rather ally yourself with her, because it’s more convenient, because you’d rather be someone else, because you’d rather have an easy daughter, because you’d rather, I don’t know, tell yourself you’re going to be saved. I’d call you a dummy, Allyson”—Poppy stands up and removes Allyson’s plate from the table—“but what you really are is a fucking Nazi.”
