“The girl ca—” Daisy stopped and tried again. “The girl cat-cheese . . .” “Catches,” Alex gently corrected. “The girl catches the fish.” “Very good, darling. Go on.” Now that she’d been fitted for spectacles, Daisy was flying through her primers. Her mind had connected the letters and sounds long ago. She simply hadn’t been able to see them. The primers had needed a bit of editing. As originally written by a certain Mr. Browne—who suffered an appalling lack of imagination—the boys did everything interesting and the girls never left home. Nothing that a few snips of the shears and a couple dabs
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