We wore that grief like one wears one's underclothes. An invisible skin, unseen to prying eyes, but knitted to us all the same. We wore it every day.
Our underclothes were woolen vests and knickers and an extraordinary, but apparently necessary, concoction called a liberty bodice, which had no freedom about it, so how it got its name I cannot imagine. It was made of some harsh stuff, with here and there straps and buttons that did nothing.
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