Mother, I don't want to be disagreeable or unkind. I've come home to live with you again here in the same house. But it can't be in the same way. I've been living my own life, making my own decisions for a long while now. It's impossible to go back to being treated like a child again. I don't think I'll do anything of importance that will displease you. But Mother, from now on, you must give me complete freedom, including deciding what I wear, where I sleep, what I read...

Where did you get that dress?

Lisa and I bought it in New York today.

It's outrageous. Where's the black-and-white foulard?

I gave it to Miss Till. She was so grateful. Mother, please be fair and meet me halfway.

They told me before you were born that my recompense to having a late child was the comfort the child would be to me in my old age, especially if she was a girl. And on your first day home after six months' absence, you behave like this.