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Updated: May 14, 2025
"To see ourselves as others see us must be much like looking at one's face in a spoon." "That doesn't do us any good," Rodney Temple corrected, "because we always blame the spoon." "Don't you mind them, dear," Mrs. Temple cooed. She was a little, apple-faced woman, with a figure suggestive of a tea-cozy, and a voice with a gurgle in it, like a dove's.
In the one dim light burning in the hall her big black eyes gleamed tragically, as those of certain animals gleam in dusk. "Oh, Peter, dear, I'm so glad you've come! The most awful thing has happened." That was Mrs. Temple who, wrapped in something fleecy in texture and pink in hue, was crouched on the lowest step, looking more than ever like a tea-cozy dropped by accident. "What's the matter?"
Brightly colored "stations of the Cross," and something upon the altar that looked like a large tea-cozy, before which burned a light, told how here the law was systematically broken, and that the "nonsense" inveighed against by the old Queen Regent had not yet been put down.
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