This last year or so, now that Thyme was a grown girl, she had felt at once a loss of purpose and a gain of liberty.

She hardly knew whether to be glad or sorry.

It freed her for the tasting of more things, more people, and more Stephen; but it left a little void in her heart, a little soreness round it.

What would Thyme think if she heard this story about her uncle?
The thought started a whole train of doubts that had of late beset her.

Was her little daughter going to turn out like herself?
If not, why not?
Stephen joked about his daughter's skirts, her hockey, her friendship with young men.