From a distance, the average-sighted could be forgiven for mistaking Mrs. Peach to be in the first flush of wide-eyed, pink-cheeked, white-toothed youth. Mrs. Peach is, in fact, somewhat beyond flowering age. Her freshness has been retained—the years rewound, even—by sheer artifice. Face creams, powders, and paints—all applied with an unstinting hand. This cosmetic artistry is supplemented with the pinning of wigs and postiches and the donning of false dental bridges. Close up the effect is disturbing; Bridie is disturbed.
