am not callous regarding the death of any living thing, but when the vicar delivered me to the house of Lord Braithwaite a week after the death of my mother—only eleven months after the death of my father—he left me a list of instructions rather than condolence, much in the way Aunt Eugenia does. I was to be amiable. I was to be kind. I was to be understanding, as she had experienced a Great Loss. I was not to be sullen. I was not to be a martyr. Finally, to put the very painful nail in the coffin, I was not to wear my black dress because it would make Victoria feel melancholy. Thus, I was
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