Nené’s face was covered in her beauty cream of lard, marshmallow root and ground slugs; her dark grey eyes looked like tarnished coins peeking out of a ghostly dew. She’d begun to freckle, too, and Mummi had warned against the sun, so when my sister wasn’t covered in slime, she dabbed her face with milk and vinegar. Her hair, as usual, was completely covered in a silk bonnet, giving her the look of a nun at vespers.
Whenever I addressed Nené, I now curtsied. Once an official engagement had been announced, I would also have to kiss her hand. Her hand, by the way, was now eternally cloaked in a silk glove.