No one has touched her in such a way for quite some time, that sure lifting of her chin to look at her in the measuring way that all mothers seem to have. Alexandrie nearly balks at the daring of it, at being made to feel more girl than woman, but with the loss of Emile, there is a sort of simultaneous yearning to again have the security of someone quietly looking after her. The fight of it is obvious, to someone looking as intently as Lakshmi is, but it finally settles into the kind of stubborn pride worn by those who refuse an offered arm and limp on.

Let me pretend, it says. It is all that I have.

"A lesson I would gladly return the knowledge of."