Frances was in her bed, in her indigo robe, hair upswept, studying herself in a palm mirror and talking to Small Frank, who was sitting beside her and listening with what could be interpreted as interest. “It’s like a retirement, in a way,” she explained. “Though, no, I’ve never worked, and so what mantle is being retired, even. And then, who retires after the money’s all gone.” She made a face describing a shrug. She lowered her mirror and looked at Small Frank. “I’m not sure how we’re going to get you into Europe,” she said. She raised her mirror and sucked in her cheeks. “All that lovely money.” She observed a moment of silence before turning the bedside light off.