HeirloomThe torture scene developed under a glass bell such as might protect an expensive clock. I almost expected a chime to sound as the tongs were applied and the body jerked and fainted calm. All the people were tiny and rosy-cheeked and if I could have heard a cry of triumph or pain it would have been tiny as the mouth that made it or one single note of a music box. The drama bell was mounted like a gigantic baroque pearl on a wedding ring or brooch or locket. I know you feel naked, little darling. I know you hate living in the country and can’t wait until the shiny magazines come every week and every month. Look through your grandmother’s house again. There is an heirloom somewhere.