Chapitre 11: Cheek bones
''I don't suppose you'd believe me if I told you that you were twenty times more beautiful than Clio, and much more intelligent.''
''Oh Mam, I'm not.''
''You are, Kit. I swear it. What Clio has is style. I don't know where she got it, but she knows how to make the most of everything she has. Even at twelve she knows what looks well on her and how to smile. That's all it is. It's not beauty, not like you have, and you have my cheek bones, remember. Clio only has Lilian's.''
They laughed together, grown-ups in a conspiracy of mockery. Mrs Kelly had a plump face and no cheek bones at all.
Rita went to Sister Madeline on Thursdays, her half day. If anyone else called, Sister Madeleine would say '' Rita and I are reading a bit of poetry. We often do that on Thursday.'' It was such a tactful way of telling them that this was Rita's time, people began to recognize it as such. Rita would bake some scones, or bring half an apple tart.
They would have tea together and bend over the books. As the weeks went on and the summer came, Rita began to have new confidence. She could read without putting her finger under the words; she could guess the harder words from the sense of the sentence. It was time for the writing lessons.
Sister Madeleine gave Rita a fountain pen.
''I couldn't take that, Sister. It was given to you as a gift.''
''Well, if it's mine, can't I do what I like with it?'' Sister Madeleine rarely kept anything that she had been given for more than twenty-four hours.
''Well, could I have a loan of it then, a long loan?''
''I'll lend it to you for the rest of your life.'' Sister Madeleine said.
There were no boring headline copy books; instead Rita and Sister Madeleine wrote about Lough Glass and the lake and changing seasons.
''You could write to your sister in America soon.'' Sister Madeleine said.
''Not a real letter, not to a person.''
''Why not? That's as good as any letter she'll get from these parts, I tell you.''
''Would she want to heart all this abut home`''
''She'll be so full of happiness to hear about home you'd nearly hear her thanking you across the Atlantic Ocean.''
''I never got a letter. I wouldn't want them to be thinking above in McMahons' that I was in the class of having people writing to me.''
''She could write to you here.''
''Would the postmann bring letters to you, Sister Madeleine?''
''Ah, Tommy Bennet is the most decent man in the world. He delivers letters to me three times a week. Comes down here on his bicycle whatever the weather, and has a cup of tea.''
Sister Madeleine didn't add that Tommy never came without some contribution to the store cupboard. Nor that she had been instrumental in getting his daughter quickly and quietly into a home for unmarried mothers and keeping the secret safe from the interested eyes and ears of Lough Glass.
''And you'd get enough post for that?'' Rita asked in wonder.
''People are very kind. They often write to me.'' Sister Madeleine said with the same sense of wonder.
*
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone