Oona’s mother, the girl’s grandmother, did so far more, and tried to impart a sense of how it had been, of what they had really come from, of the whiteness that could no longer be seen but was still a part of them, and the girl was fond of her grandmother, and remarkably tolerant of her grandmother, and so she surprised her grandmother when she stopped her one day, when she held her grandmother’s hands, and said stop,
