Reading Compreh...

In the introduction to one of her dramas, a well-known playwright and actor discusses some of her ideas about acting.

Words have always held a particular power for me. I remember leafing through a book of Native American poems one morning while I was waiting for my Shakespeare class to begin and being struck by a phrase from the preface, (5) The word, the word above all, is truly magical, not only by its meaning, but by its artful manipulation.
   meaning, but by its artful manipulation. This quote, which I added to my journal, reminded me of something my grandfather had told me when I was a girl: If you say a word often enough it becomes your (10) own. I added that phrase to my journal next to the quote about the magic of words. When I traveled home to Baltimore for my grandfathers funeral a year after my journal entry, I mentioned my grandfathers words to my father. He corrected me. He told me that my grandfather (15) had actually said, If you say a word often enough, it becomes you. I was still a student at the time, but I knew even then, even before I had made a conscious decision to teach as well as act, that my grandfathers words would be important.
      (20)Actors are very impressionable people, or some would say, suggestible people. We are trained to develop aspects of our memories that are more emotional and sensory than intellectual. The general public often wonders how actors remember their lines. Whats more remarkable to me is (25) how actors remember, recall, and reiterate feelings and sensations. The body has a memory just as the mind does. The heart has a memory, just as the mind does. The act of speech is a physical act. It is powerful enough that it can create, with the rest of the body, a kind of cooperative (30) dance. That dance is a sketch of something that is inside a person, and not fully revealed by the words alone. I came to realize that if I were able to record part of the dance that is, the spoken partand reenact it, the rest of the body would follow. I could then create the illusion of being (35) another person by reenacting something she had said as she had said it. My grandfathers idea led me to consider that the reenactment, or the reiteration, of a persons words would also teach me about that person.
     I had been trained in the tradition of acting called (40) psychological realism. A basic tenet of psychological realism is that characters live inside of you and that you create a lifelike portrayal of the character through a process of realizing your own similarity to the character. When I later became a teacher of acting, I began to become more (45) and more troubled by the self-oriented method. I began to look for ways to engage my students in putting themselves in other peoples shoes. This went against the grain of the psychological realism tradition, which was to get the character to walk in the actors shoes. It became less and less (50) interesting intellectually to bring the dramatic literature of the world into a classroom of people in their late teens and twenties, and to explore it within the framework of their real lives. Aesthetically it seemed limited, because most of the time the characters all sounded the same. (55)Most characters spoke somewhere inside the rhythmic range of the students. More troubling was that this method left an important bridge out of acting. The spirit of acting is the travel from the self to the other. This self-based method seemed to come to a spiritual halt. It saw the self as the (60) ultimate home of the character. To me, the search for character is constantly in motion. It is a quest that moves back and forth between the self and the other.
       I needed evidence that you could find a characters psychological reality by inhabiting that characters words. (65)  I needed evidence of the limitations of basing a character on a series of metaphors from an actors real life. I wanted to develop an alternative to the self-based technique, a technique that would begin with the other and come to the self, a technique that would empower the other to find the actor (70) rather than the other way around.

In the introduction to one of her dramas, a well-known playwright and actor discusses some of her ideas about acting.

Words have always held a particular power for me. I remember leafing through a book of Native American poems one morning while I was waiting for my Shakespeare class to begin and being struck by a phrase from the preface, (5) The word, the word above all, is truly magical, not only by its meaning, but by its artful manipulation.
   meaning, but by its artful manipulation. This quote, which I added to my journal, reminded me of something my grandfather had told me when I was a girl: If you say a word often enough it becomes your (10) own. I added that phrase to my journal next to the quote about the magic of words. When I traveled home to Baltimore for my grandfathers funeral a year after my journal entry, I mentioned my grandfathers words to my father. He corrected me. He told me that my grandfather (15) had actually said, If you say a word often enough, it becomes you. I was still a student at the time, but I knew even then, even before I had made a conscious decision to teach as well as act, that my grandfathers words would be important.
      (20)Actors are very impressionable people, or some would say, suggestible people. We are trained to develop aspects of our memories that are more emotional and sensory than intellectual. The general public often wonders how actors remember their lines. Whats more remarkable to me is (25) how actors remember, recall, and reiterate feelings and sensations. The body has a memory just as the mind does. The heart has a memory, just as the mind does. The act of speech is a physical act. It is powerful enough that it can create, with the rest of the body, a kind of cooperative (30) dance. That dance is a sketch of something that is inside a person, and not fully revealed by the words alone. I came to realize that if I were able to record part of the dance that is, the spoken partand reenact it, the rest of the body would follow. I could then create the illusion of being (35) another person by reenacting something she had said as she had said it. My grandfathers idea led me to consider that the reenactment, or the reiteration, of a persons words would also teach me about that person.
     I had been trained in the tradition of acting called (40) psychological realism. A basic tenet of psychological realism is that characters live inside of you and that you create a lifelike portrayal of the character through a process of realizing your own similarity to the character. When I later became a teacher of acting, I began to become more (45) and more troubled by the self-oriented method. I began to look for ways to engage my students in putting themselves in other peoples shoes. This went against the grain of the psychological realism tradition, which was to get the character to walk in the actors shoes. It became less and less (50) interesting intellectually to bring the dramatic literature of the world into a classroom of people in their late teens and twenties, and to explore it within the framework of their real lives. Aesthetically it seemed limited, because most of the time the characters all sounded the same. (55)Most characters spoke somewhere inside the rhythmic range of the students. More troubling was that this method left an important bridge out of acting. The spirit of acting is the travel from the self to the other. This self-based method seemed to come to a spiritual halt. It saw the self as the (60) ultimate home of the character. To me, the search for character is constantly in motion. It is a quest that moves back and forth between the self and the other.
       I needed evidence that you could find a characters psychological reality by inhabiting that characters words. (65)  I needed evidence of the limitations of basing a character on a series of metaphors from an actors real life. I wanted to develop an alternative to the self-based technique, a technique that would begin with the other and come to the self, a technique that would empower the other to find the actor (70) rather than the other way around.

In the introduction to one of her dramas, a well-known playwright and actor discusses some of her ideas about acting.

Words have always held a particular power for me. I remember leafing through a book of Native American poems one morning while I was waiting for my Shakespeare class to begin and being struck by a phrase from the preface, (5) The word, the word above all, is truly magical, not only by its meaning, but by its artful manipulation.
   meaning, but by its artful manipulation. This quote, which I added to my journal, reminded me of something my grandfather had told me when I was a girl: If you say a word often enough it becomes your (10) own. I added that phrase to my journal next to the quote about the magic of words. When I traveled home to Baltimore for my grandfathers funeral a year after my journal entry, I mentioned my grandfathers words to my father. He corrected me. He told me that my grandfather (15) had actually said, If you say a word often enough, it becomes you. I was still a student at the time, but I knew even then, even before I had made a conscious decision to teach as well as act, that my grandfathers words would be important.
      (20)Actors are very impressionable people, or some would say, suggestible people. We are trained to develop aspects of our memories that are more emotional and sensory than intellectual. The general public often wonders how actors remember their lines. Whats more remarkable to me is (25) how actors remember, recall, and reiterate feelings and sensations. The body has a memory just as the mind does. The heart has a memory, just as the mind does. The act of speech is a physical act. It is powerful enough that it can create, with the rest of the body, a kind of cooperative (30) dance. That dance is a sketch of something that is inside a person, and not fully revealed by the words alone. I came to realize that if I were able to record part of the dance that is, the spoken partand reenact it, the rest of the body would follow. I could then create the illusion of being (35) another person by reenacting something she had said as she had said it. My grandfathers idea led me to consider that the reenactment, or the reiteration, of a persons words would also teach me about that person.
     I had been trained in the tradition of acting called (40) psychological realism. A basic tenet of psychological realism is that characters live inside of you and that you create a lifelike portrayal of the character through a process of realizing your own similarity to the character. When I later became a teacher of acting, I began to become more (45) and more troubled by the self-oriented method. I began to look for ways to engage my students in putting themselves in other peoples shoes. This went against the grain of the psychological realism tradition, which was to get the character to walk in the actors shoes. It became less and less (50) interesting intellectually to bring the dramatic literature of the world into a classroom of people in their late teens and twenties, and to explore it within the framework of their real lives. Aesthetically it seemed limited, because most of the time the characters all sounded the same. (55)Most characters spoke somewhere inside the rhythmic range of the students. More troubling was that this method left an important bridge out of acting. The spirit of acting is the travel from the self to the other. This self-based method seemed to come to a spiritual halt. It saw the self as the (60) ultimate home of the character. To me, the search for character is constantly in motion. It is a quest that moves back and forth between the self and the other.
       I needed evidence that you could find a characters psychological reality by inhabiting that characters words. (65)  I needed evidence of the limitations of basing a character on a series of metaphors from an actors real life. I wanted to develop an alternative to the self-based technique, a technique that would begin with the other and come to the self, a technique that would empower the other to find the actor (70) rather than the other way around.

In the introduction to one of her dramas, a well-known playwright and actor discusses some of her ideas about acting.

Words have always held a particular power for me. I remember leafing through a book of Native American poems one morning while I was waiting for my Shakespeare class to begin and being struck by a phrase from the preface, (5) The word, the word above all, is truly magical, not only by its meaning, but by its artful manipulation.
   meaning, but by its artful manipulation. This quote, which I added to my journal, reminded me of something my grandfather had told me when I was a girl: If you say a word often enough it becomes your (10) own. I added that phrase to my journal next to the quote about the magic of words. When I traveled home to Baltimore for my grandfathers funeral a year after my journal entry, I mentioned my grandfathers words to my father. He corrected me. He told me that my grandfather (15) had actually said, If you say a word often enough, it becomes you. I was still a student at the time, but I knew even then, even before I had made a conscious decision to teach as well as act, that my grandfathers words would be important.
      (20)Actors are very impressionable people, or some would say, suggestible people. We are trained to develop aspects of our memories that are more emotional and sensory than intellectual. The general public often wonders how actors remember their lines. Whats more remarkable to me is (25) how actors remember, recall, and reiterate feelings and sensations. The body has a memory just as the mind does. The heart has a memory, just as the mind does. The act of speech is a physical act. It is powerful enough that it can create, with the rest of the body, a kind of cooperative (30) dance. That dance is a sketch of something that is inside a person, and not fully revealed by the words alone. I came to realize that if I were able to record part of the dance that is, the spoken partand reenact it, the rest of the body would follow. I could then create the illusion of being (35) another person by reenacting something she had said as she had said it. My grandfathers idea led me to consider that the reenactment, or the reiteration, of a persons words would also teach me about that person.
     I had been trained in the tradition of acting called (40) psychological realism. A basic tenet of psychological realism is that characters live inside of you and that you create a lifelike portrayal of the character through a process of realizing your own similarity to the character. When I later became a teacher of acting, I began to become more (45) and more troubled by the self-oriented method. I began to look for ways to engage my students in putting themselves in other peoples shoes. This went against the grain of the psychological realism tradition, which was to get the character to walk in the actors shoes. It became less and less (50) interesting intellectually to bring the dramatic literature of the world into a classroom of people in their late teens and twenties, and to explore it within the framework of their real lives. Aesthetically it seemed limited, because most of the time the characters all sounded the same. (55)Most characters spoke somewhere inside the rhythmic range of the students. More troubling was that this method left an important bridge out of acting. The spirit of acting is the travel from the self to the other. This self-based method seemed to come to a spiritual halt. It saw the self as the (60) ultimate home of the character. To me, the search for character is constantly in motion. It is a quest that moves back and forth between the self and the other.
       I needed evidence that you could find a characters psychological reality by inhabiting that characters words. (65)  I needed evidence of the limitations of basing a character on a series of metaphors from an actors real life. I wanted to develop an alternative to the self-based technique, a technique that would begin with the other and come to the self, a technique that would empower the other to find the actor (70) rather than the other way around.

In the introduction to one of her dramas, a well-known playwright and actor discusses some of her ideas about acting.

Words have always held a particular power for me. I remember leafing through a book of Native American poems one morning while I was waiting for my Shakespeare class to begin and being struck by a phrase from the preface, (5) The word, the word above all, is truly magical, not only by its meaning, but by its artful manipulation.
   meaning, but by its artful manipulation. This quote, which I added to my journal, reminded me of something my grandfather had told me when I was a girl: If you say a word often enough it becomes your (10) own. I added that phrase to my journal next to the quote about the magic of words. When I traveled home to Baltimore for my grandfathers funeral a year after my journal entry, I mentioned my grandfathers words to my father. He corrected me. He told me that my grandfather (15) had actually said, If you say a word often enough, it becomes you. I was still a student at the time, but I knew even then, even before I had made a conscious decision to teach as well as act, that my grandfathers words would be important.
      (20)Actors are very impressionable people, or some would say, suggestible people. We are trained to develop aspects of our memories that are more emotional and sensory than intellectual. The general public often wonders how actors remember their lines. Whats more remarkable to me is (25) how actors remember, recall, and reiterate feelings and sensations. The body has a memory just as the mind does. The heart has a memory, just as the mind does. The act of speech is a physical act. It is powerful enough that it can create, with the rest of the body, a kind of cooperative (30) dance. That dance is a sketch of something that is inside a person, and not fully revealed by the words alone. I came to realize that if I were able to record part of the dance that is, the spoken partand reenact it, the rest of the body would follow. I could then create the illusion of being (35) another person by reenacting something she had said as she had said it. My grandfathers idea led me to consider that the reenactment, or the reiteration, of a persons words would also teach me about that person.
     I had been trained in the tradition of acting called (40) psychological realism. A basic tenet of psychological realism is that characters live inside of you and that you create a lifelike portrayal of the character through a process of realizing your own similarity to the character. When I later became a teacher of acting, I began to become more (45) and more troubled by the self-oriented method. I began to look for ways to engage my students in putting themselves in other peoples shoes. This went against the grain of the psychological realism tradition, which was to get the character to walk in the actors shoes. It became less and less (50) interesting intellectually to bring the dramatic literature of the world into a classroom of people in their late teens and twenties, and to explore it within the framework of their real lives. Aesthetically it seemed limited, because most of the time the characters all sounded the same. (55)Most characters spoke somewhere inside the rhythmic range of the students. More troubling was that this method left an important bridge out of acting. The spirit of acting is the travel from the self to the other. This self-based method seemed to come to a spiritual halt. It saw the self as the (60) ultimate home of the character. To me, the search for character is constantly in motion. It is a quest that moves back and forth between the self and the other.
       I needed evidence that you could find a characters psychological reality by inhabiting that characters words. (65)  I needed evidence of the limitations of basing a character on a series of metaphors from an actors real life. I wanted to develop an alternative to the self-based technique, a technique that would begin with the other and come to the self, a technique that would empower the other to find the actor (70) rather than the other way around.

This passage is taken from a novel set in early twentieth-
century England. Mrs. Deverell is the widow of a shop-
keeper who lived and worked in Volunteer Street; their
daughter Angel has become a best-selling novelist. Here,
Mrs. Deverell finds herself in a new home that she and
Angel share in the prosperous village of Alderhurst.

I never thought I would live in such a beautiful place,
Mrs. Deverell told Angel when they first moved in. But
nowadays she often suffered from the lowering pain of
believing herself happy when she was not. Who could
be miserable in such a place? she asked. Yet, on misty
October evenings or on Sundays, when the church bells
began, sensations she had never known before came
over her.
She sometimes felt better when she went back to see
her friends on Volunteer Street; but it was a long way to
go. Angel discouraged the visits, and her friends seemed
to have changed. Either they put out their best china and
thought twice before they said anything, or they were
defiantly informal Youll have to take us as you find
us and would persist in making remarks like Pardon
the apron, but theres no servants here to polish the grate.
In each case, they were watching her for signs of grandeur
or condescension. She fell into little traps they laid and
then they were able to report to the neighbors. It hasnt
taken her long to start putting on airs. She had to be
especially careful to recognize everyone she met, and
walked up the street with an expression of anxiety which
was misinterpreted as disdain.
The name Deverell Family Grocer stayed for a long
time over the shop, and she was pleased that it should,
although Angel frowned with annoyance when she heard
of it. Then one day the faded name was scraped and burnt
away, and on her next visit to Volunteer Street, she saw
that Cubbages Stores was painted there instead. She felt
an unaccountable panic and dismay at the sight of this and
at the strange idea of other people and furniture in those
familiar rooms. Very nice folk, she was told. Shes
so friendly. Always the same. And such lovely kiddies.
Mrs. Deverell felt slighted and wounded; going home
she was so preoccupied that she passed the wife of the
landlord of The Volunteer without seeing her. I wouldnt
expect Alderhurst people to speak to a barkeeps wife,
the woman told everyone in the saloon bar. Even though
it was our Gran who laid her husband out when he died.
All of their kindnesses were remembered and brooded
over; any past kindness Mrs. Deverell had done and
they were many only served to underline the change
which had come over her.
At a time of her life when she needed the security of
familiar things, these were put beyond her reach. It seemed
to her that she had wasted her years acquiring skills which
in the end were to be of no use to her:  her weather-eye for
a good drying day; her careful ear for judging the gentle
singing sound of meat roasting in the oven; her touch for
the freshness of meat; and how, by smelling a cake, she
could tell if it were baked. These arts, which had taken
so long to perfect, fell now into disuse. She would never
again, she grieved, gather up a great fragrant line of
washing in her arms to carry indoors. One day when they
had first come to the new house, she had passed through
the courtyard where sheets were hanging out:  she had
taken them in her hands and, finding them just at the right
stage of drying, had begun to unpeg them. They were
looped all about her shoulders when Angel caught her.
Please leave work to the people who should do it, she
had said. You will only give offense. She tried hard
not to give offense; but it was difficult. The smell of
ironing being done or the sound of eggs being whisked
set up a restlessness which she could scarcely control.
The relationship of mother and daughter seemed to
have been reversed, and Angel, now in her early twenties,
was the authoritative one; since girlhood she had been
taking on one responsibility after another, until she had
left her mother with nothing to perplex her but how to
while away the hours when the servants were busy and
her daughter was at work. Fretfully, she would wander
around the house, bored, but afraid to interrupt; she was
like an intimidated child.

This passage is taken from a novel set in early twentieth-
century England. Mrs. Deverell is the widow of a shop-
keeper who lived and worked in Volunteer Street; their
daughter Angel has become a best-selling novelist. Here,
Mrs. Deverell finds herself in a new home that she and
Angel share in the prosperous village of Alderhurst.

I never thought I would live in such a beautiful place,
Mrs. Deverell told Angel when they first moved in. But
nowadays she often suffered from the lowering pain of
believing herself happy when she was not. Who could
be miserable in such a place? she asked. Yet, on misty
October evenings or on Sundays, when the church bells
began, sensations she had never known before came
over her.
She sometimes felt better when she went back to see
her friends on Volunteer Street; but it was a long way to
go. Angel discouraged the visits, and her friends seemed
to have changed. Either they put out their best china and
thought twice before they said anything, or they were
defiantly informal Youll have to take us as you find
us and would persist in making remarks like Pardon
the apron, but theres no servants here to polish the grate.
In each case, they were watching her for signs of grandeur
or condescension. She fell into little traps they laid and
then they were able to report to the neighbors. It hasnt
taken her long to start putting on airs. She had to be
especially careful to recognize everyone she met, and
walked up the street with an expression of anxiety which
was misinterpreted as disdain.
The name Deverell Family Grocer stayed for a long
time over the shop, and she was pleased that it should,
although Angel frowned with annoyance when she heard
of it. Then one day the faded name was scraped and burnt
away, and on her next visit to Volunteer Street, she saw
that Cubbages Stores was painted there instead. She felt
an unaccountable panic and dismay at the sight of this and
at the strange idea of other people and furniture in those
familiar rooms. Very nice folk, she was told. Shes
so friendly. Always the same. And such lovely kiddies.
Mrs. Deverell felt slighted and wounded; going home
she was so preoccupied that she passed the wife of the
landlord of The Volunteer without seeing her. I wouldnt
expect Alderhurst people to speak to a barkeeps wife,
the woman told everyone in the saloon bar. Even though
it was our Gran who laid her husband out when he died.
All of their kindnesses were remembered and brooded
over; any past kindness Mrs. Deverell had done and
they were many only served to underline the change
which had come over her.
At a time of her life when she needed the security of
familiar things, these were put beyond her reach. It seemed
to her that she had wasted her years acquiring skills which
in the end were to be of no use to her:  her weather-eye for
a good drying day; her careful ear for judging the gentle
singing sound of meat roasting in the oven; her touch for
the freshness of meat; and how, by smelling a cake, she
could tell if it were baked. These arts, which had taken
so long to perfect, fell now into disuse. She would never
again, she grieved, gather up a great fragrant line of
washing in her arms to carry indoors. One day when they
had first come to the new house, she had passed through
the courtyard where sheets were hanging out:  she had
taken them in her hands and, finding them just at the right
stage of drying, had begun to unpeg them. They were
looped all about her shoulders when Angel caught her.
Please leave work to the people who should do it, she
had said. You will only give offense. She tried hard
not to give offense; but it was difficult. The smell of
ironing being done or the sound of eggs being whisked
set up a restlessness which she could scarcely control.
The relationship of mother and daughter seemed to
have been reversed, and Angel, now in her early twenties,
was the authoritative one; since girlhood she had been
taking on one responsibility after another, until she had
left her mother with nothing to perplex her but how to
while away the hours when the servants were busy and
her daughter was at work. Fretfully, she would wander
around the house, bored, but afraid to interrupt; she was
like an intimidated child.

This passage is taken from a novel set in early twentieth-
century England. Mrs. Deverell is the widow of a shop-
keeper who lived and worked in Volunteer Street; their
daughter Angel has become a best-selling novelist. Here,
Mrs. Deverell finds herself in a new home that she and
Angel share in the prosperous village of Alderhurst.

I never thought I would live in such a beautiful place,
Mrs. Deverell told Angel when they first moved in. But
nowadays she often suffered from the lowering pain of
believing herself happy when she was not. Who could
be miserable in such a place? she asked. Yet, on misty
October evenings or on Sundays, when the church bells
began, sensations she had never known before came
over her.
She sometimes felt better when she went back to see
her friends on Volunteer Street; but it was a long way to
go. Angel discouraged the visits, and her friends seemed
to have changed. Either they put out their best china and
thought twice before they said anything, or they were
defiantly informal Youll have to take us as you find
us and would persist in making remarks like Pardon
the apron, but theres no servants here to polish the grate.
In each case, they were watching her for signs of grandeur
or condescension. She fell into little traps they laid and
then they were able to report to the neighbors. It hasnt
taken her long to start putting on airs. She had to be
especially careful to recognize everyone she met, and
walked up the street with an expression of anxiety which
was misinterpreted as disdain.
The name Deverell Family Grocer stayed for a long
time over the shop, and she was pleased that it should,
although Angel frowned with annoyance when she heard
of it. Then one day the faded name was scraped and burnt
away, and on her next visit to Volunteer Street, she saw
that Cubbages Stores was painted there instead. She felt
an unaccountable panic and dismay at the sight of this and
at the strange idea of other people and furniture in those
familiar rooms. Very nice folk, she was told. Shes
so friendly. Always the same. And such lovely kiddies.
Mrs. Deverell felt slighted and wounded; going home
she was so preoccupied that she passed the wife of the
landlord of The Volunteer without seeing her. I wouldnt
expect Alderhurst people to speak to a barkeeps wife,
the woman told everyone in the saloon bar. Even though
it was our Gran who laid her husband out when he died.
All of their kindnesses were remembered and brooded
over; any past kindness Mrs. Deverell had done and
they were many only served to underline the change
which had come over her.
At a time of her life when she needed the security of
familiar things, these were put beyond her reach. It seemed
to her that she had wasted her years acquiring skills which
in the end were to be of no use to her:  her weather-eye for
a good drying day; her careful ear for judging the gentle
singing sound of meat roasting in the oven; her touch for
the freshness of meat; and how, by smelling a cake, she
could tell if it were baked. These arts, which had taken
so long to perfect, fell now into disuse. She would never
again, she grieved, gather up a great fragrant line of
washing in her arms to carry indoors. One day when they
had first come to the new house, she had passed through
the courtyard where sheets were hanging out:  she had
taken them in her hands and, finding them just at the right
stage of drying, had begun to unpeg them. They were
looped all about her shoulders when Angel caught her.
Please leave work to the people who should do it, she
had said. You will only give offense. She tried hard
not to give offense; but it was difficult. The smell of
ironing being done or the sound of eggs being whisked
set up a restlessness which she could scarcely control.
The relationship of mother and daughter seemed to
have been reversed, and Angel, now in her early twenties,
was the authoritative one; since girlhood she had been
taking on one responsibility after another, until she had
left her mother with nothing to perplex her but how to
while away the hours when the servants were busy and
her daughter was at work. Fretfully, she would wander
around the house, bored, but afraid to interrupt; she was
like an intimidated child.

This passage is taken from a novel set in early twentieth-
century England. Mrs. Deverell is the widow of a shop-
keeper who lived and worked in Volunteer Street; their
daughter Angel has become a best-selling novelist. Here,
Mrs. Deverell finds herself in a new home that she and
Angel share in the prosperous village of Alderhurst.

I never thought I would live in such a beautiful place,
Mrs. Deverell told Angel when they first moved in. But
nowadays she often suffered from the lowering pain of
believing herself happy when she was not. Who could
be miserable in such a place? she asked. Yet, on misty
October evenings or on Sundays, when the church bells
began, sensations she had never known before came
over her.
She sometimes felt better when she went back to see
her friends on Volunteer Street; but it was a long way to
go. Angel discouraged the visits, and her friends seemed
to have changed. Either they put out their best china and
thought twice before they said anything, or they were
defiantly informal Youll have to take us as you find
us and would persist in making remarks like Pardon
the apron, but theres no servants here to polish the grate.
In each case, they were watching her for signs of grandeur
or condescension. She fell into little traps they laid and
then they were able to report to the neighbors. It hasnt
taken her long to start putting on airs. She had to be
especially careful to recognize everyone she met, and
walked up the street with an expression of anxiety which
was misinterpreted as disdain.
The name Deverell Family Grocer stayed for a long
time over the shop, and she was pleased that it should,
although Angel frowned with annoyance when she heard
of it. Then one day the faded name was scraped and burnt
away, and on her next visit to Volunteer Street, she saw
that Cubbages Stores was painted there instead. She felt
an unaccountable panic and dismay at the sight of this and
at the strange idea of other people and furniture in those
familiar rooms. Very nice folk, she was told. Shes
so friendly. Always the same. And such lovely kiddies.
Mrs. Deverell felt slighted and wounded; going home
she was so preoccupied that she passed the wife of the
landlord of The Volunteer without seeing her. I wouldnt
expect Alderhurst people to speak to a barkeeps wife,
the woman told everyone in the saloon bar. Even though
it was our Gran who laid her husband out when he died.
All of their kindnesses were remembered and brooded
over; any past kindness Mrs. Deverell had done and
they were many only served to underline the change
which had come over her.
At a time of her life when she needed the security of
familiar things, these were put beyond her reach. It seemed
to her that she had wasted her years acquiring skills which
in the end were to be of no use to her:  her weather-eye for
a good drying day; her careful ear for judging the gentle
singing sound of meat roasting in the oven; her touch for
the freshness of meat; and how, by smelling a cake, she
could tell if it were baked. These arts, which had taken
so long to perfect, fell now into disuse. She would never
again, she grieved, gather up a great fragrant line of
washing in her arms to carry indoors. One day when they
had first come to the new house, she had passed through
the courtyard where sheets were hanging out:  she had
taken them in her hands and, finding them just at the right
stage of drying, had begun to unpeg them. They were
looped all about her shoulders when Angel caught her.
Please leave work to the people who should do it, she
had said. You will only give offense. She tried hard
not to give offense; but it was difficult. The smell of
ironing being done or the sound of eggs being whisked
set up a restlessness which she could scarcely control.
The relationship of mother and daughter seemed to
have been reversed, and Angel, now in her early twenties,
was the authoritative one; since girlhood she had been
taking on one responsibility after another, until she had
left her mother with nothing to perplex her but how to
while away the hours when the servants were busy and
her daughter was at work. Fretfully, she would wander
around the house, bored, but afraid to interrupt; she was
like an intimidated child.

This passage is taken from a novel set in early twentieth-
century England. Mrs. Deverell is the widow of a shop-
keeper who lived and worked in Volunteer Street; their
daughter Angel has become a best-selling novelist. Here,
Mrs. Deverell finds herself in a new home that she and
Angel share in the prosperous village of Alderhurst.

I never thought I would live in such a beautiful place,
Mrs. Deverell told Angel when they first moved in. But
nowadays she often suffered from the lowering pain of
believing herself happy when she was not. Who could
be miserable in such a place? she asked. Yet, on misty
October evenings or on Sundays, when the church bells
began, sensations she had never known before came
over her.
She sometimes felt better when she went back to see
her friends on Volunteer Street; but it was a long way to
go. Angel discouraged the visits, and her friends seemed
to have changed. Either they put out their best china and
thought twice before they said anything, or they were
defiantly informal Youll have to take us as you find
us and would persist in making remarks like Pardon
the apron, but theres no servants here to polish the grate.
In each case, they were watching her for signs of grandeur
or condescension. She fell into little traps they laid and
then they were able to report to the neighbors. It hasnt
taken her long to start putting on airs. She had to be
especially careful to recognize everyone she met, and
walked up the street with an expression of anxiety which
was misinterpreted as disdain.
The name Deverell Family Grocer stayed for a long
time over the shop, and she was pleased that it should,
although Angel frowned with annoyance when she heard
of it. Then one day the faded name was scraped and burnt
away, and on her next visit to Volunteer Street, she saw
that Cubbages Stores was painted there instead. She felt
an unaccountable panic and dismay at the sight of this and
at the strange idea of other people and furniture in those
familiar rooms. Very nice folk, she was told. Shes
so friendly. Always the same. And such lovely kiddies.
Mrs. Deverell felt slighted and wounded; going home
she was so preoccupied that she passed the wife of the
landlord of The Volunteer without seeing her. I wouldnt
expect Alderhurst people to speak to a barkeeps wife,
the woman told everyone in the saloon bar. Even though
it was our Gran who laid her husband out when he died.
All of their kindnesses were remembered and brooded
over; any past kindness Mrs. Deverell had done and
they were many only served to underline the change
which had come over her.
At a time of her life when she needed the security of
familiar things, these were put beyond her reach. It seemed
to her that she had wasted her years acquiring skills which
in the end were to be of no use to her:  her weather-eye for
a good drying day; her careful ear for judging the gentle
singing sound of meat roasting in the oven; her touch for
the freshness of meat; and how, by smelling a cake, she
could tell if it were baked. These arts, which had taken
so long to perfect, fell now into disuse. She would never
again, she grieved, gather up a great fragrant line of
washing in her arms to carry indoors. One day when they
had first come to the new house, she had passed through
the courtyard where sheets were hanging out:  she had
taken them in her hands and, finding them just at the right
stage of drying, had begun to unpeg them. They were
looped all about her shoulders when Angel caught her.
Please leave work to the people who should do it, she
had said. You will only give offense. She tried hard
not to give offense; but it was difficult. The smell of
ironing being done or the sound of eggs being whisked
set up a restlessness which she could scarcely control.
The relationship of mother and daughter seemed to
have been reversed, and Angel, now in her early twenties,
was the authoritative one; since girlhood she had been
taking on one responsibility after another, until she had
left her mother with nothing to perplex her but how to
while away the hours when the servants were busy and
her daughter was at work. Fretfully, she would wander
around the house, bored, but afraid to interrupt; she was
like an intimidated child.