She was such a gentle person. Their mother, Terry, read books all day, even when she was well. She lay in bed in the morning, she came down and propped the book against the teapot, she moved to a deckchair in the garden with her feet akimbo, and one arm flung high. If you spoke to her while she was reading she would look at you from a lovely distance. And though you might imagine she was busy with two daughters and a husband to manage, she really wasn’t that busy. She was never interested in cooking, for example, and often didn’t.
