I stood there in the foyer, trying to see all the places where Papa had laid holes in the floor or set out wires to trip on, trying to breathe shallowly so as not to tighten the noose around my throat. I held myself still and kept my lips taut, Rose and even Undine just as motionless, all of us doing our own silent arithmetic. Had we sold enough to make Papa happy? Had we spoken too freely with the visitors and made him angry? I was sure there was a protractor, or some devious spell, that could measure the particular curve of a smile. There was certainly a concrete answer that could absolve us
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