“This is nice,” she said. “They’re not very high, but I hate walking in them.” “What are?” “My shoes.” She held up a foot and exhibited her very modest cuban heel. “Nannie thinks they are the right thing to wear in town, but I feel dreadful in them. Teetery.” “I expect one gets used to them in time. One must conform to the tabus of the tribe.” “Why must one?” “Because an unquiet life is a greater misery than wearing the badge of conformity.”
