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Hilda slumped. "I'm not as bright as you."
Mary threw her a furious look. Hilda's dark eyes glittered.
"We have different gifts," said Mary's mother. "You are faithful and kind."
"But I think Mary is so brave to be a teacher, don't you? While the rest of us only careen from parlor to salon."
Mary's mother patted her hand. "We also serve who live with grace."
"But to do something for the war," said Hilda. "To really do something."
"I suppose I am proud of my daughter. And only this summer we were worried she might be a socialist."
And finally all three of them laughed. Because really.
After dinner, on the roof terrace that topped the six stories of creamy stucco, Hilda was weak with laughter while Mary seethed. Their white dresses flamed red as the sun set over Pimlico.
"You perfect wasp's udder," said Mary, lighting a cigarette. "Now I shall have to pretend forever that I haven't been sacked. Was all that about Geoffrey St John?"
"Why would you imagine it was about Geoffrey St John?"
"Well, I admit I might have slightly . . ."
"Go on. Have slightly what?"
"Have slightly kissed him."
"At the . . . ?"
"At the Queen Charlotte's Ball."
"Where he was there as . . ."
"As your escort for the night. Fine."
"Interesting."
"Isn't it?" said Mary. "Because apparently you are still jolly furious."
"So it would seem."
Mary leaned her elbows on the balcony rail and gave London a weary look. "It's because you're not relaxed about these things."
"I'm very traditional," said Hilda. "Still, look on the bright side. Now you have a full-time teaching job."
"You played Mother like a cheap pianola."
"And now you will have to get your job back, or at least pretend. Either way you'll be out of my hair for the Michaelmas Ball."
"The ball, you genius, is to be held after school hours."
"But you will have to be in the countryside, won't you? Even your mother will realize that there's nobody here to teach."
Mary considered it. "I will get you back for this."
"Eventually I shall forgive you, of course. I might even let you come to my wedding to Geoffrey St John. You can be a bridesmaid."
They leaned shoulders and watched the darkening city.
"What was it like?" said Hilda finally.
Mary sighed. "The worst thing is that I loved it."
"But I did see him first, you know," said Hilda.
"Oh, I don't mean kissing Geoffrey. I mean I loved the teaching."
"What are you cooking up now?"
"No, really! I had thirty-one children, bright as the devil's cuff links. Now they're gone it feels rather dull."
The blacked-out city lay inverted. Until now it had answered the evening stars with a million points of light.
"Why not the kiss?" said Hilda after a while. "What was wrong with Geoffrey's kiss anyway?"
Excerpted from Everyone Brave is Forgiven by Chris Cleave. Copyright © 2016 by Chris Cleave. Excerpted by permission of Simon & Schuster. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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