Quicksand
could only acknowledge it. “I know that,” she told her finally. Inwardly she was admiring the cool, easy way in which Aunt Katrina had brushed aside the momentary acid note of the conversation and resumed her customary pitch. It took, Helga thought, a great deal of security. Balance.
“Yes,” she was saying, while leisurely lighting another of those long, thin, brown cigarettes which Helga knew from distressing experience to be incredibly nasty tasting, “it would be the ideal thing for you, Helga.” She gazed penetratingly into the masked face of her niece and nodded, as though satisfied with what she saw there. “And you of course realize that you are a very charming and beautiful girl. Intelligent too. If you put your mind to it, there‘s no reason in the world why you shouldn‘t—” Abruptly she stopped, leaving her implication at once suspended and clear. Behind her there were footsteps. A small gloved hand appeared on her shoulder. In the short moment
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