Cleo wished to be called Hamish. 
        And Carrie laughed. Her laugh bargained with dragons and boors and was never stained. It mixed now with vines and old velvet, the leather of the books, buckles, a pewter cup and the last of the purple grapes. She laughed and opened up the moment to various possibilities and content and budded the eddy for Esme(e)'s phrases and Violet's support. 
        But Cleo, eyes bright, leaning forward, with an elbow upon a knee launching her white fledgling hand to lilt before her sky blue breast, smiling, laughing at her bold demand and at herself for wishing like a child to have her wishes granted, said again, "Call me Hamish. I would like that. I would like to be called Hamish. Just for today." 
        "Why would you like it?" Rose asked. 
        And I thought then that Cleo might have spoken rashly revealing her desire only to be asked, "Why?"