[ Nobody knows how Mr. Marling makes his living but his daughter Baby Jane — clever, curious, quiet Baby Jane — has a suspicion. She's never asked, though, and he never tells her — something of a modus operandi for the both of them. Turns out, with Baby Jane, the apple hasn't fallen very far from the tree.
What that means when Baby Jane grows up — not even her teachers (who send periodic notes home with her, voicing their concerns to her father) can tell.
Her expression is unsettlingly flat for a girl her age, her eyes uncharacteristically knowing. She watches her father's hands (he works with them, somehow) but keeps her own to herself. (A different sort of daughter might have reached for him.) ]
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What that means when Baby Jane grows up — not even her teachers (who send periodic notes home with her, voicing their concerns to her father) can tell.
Her expression is unsettlingly flat for a girl her age, her eyes uncharacteristically knowing. She watches her father's hands (he works with them, somehow) but keeps her own to herself. (A different sort of daughter might have reached for him.) ]
You wouldn't, though. Ever. Not even in a story.