My first year at school went off fairly smoothly. I was not an outstanding success, but neither was I a failure. There was nothing to read, because the tiny school library was kept locked up behind the doors of a tall, glass-fronted bookcase, and I detested hockey and basketball and all the other sports we were expected to practice, but I was a cheerful enough scholar. It was at the beginning of the second year that things began to change, but the change was so gradual that I was never able to decide which day, or even which week, I began to recognize it and to grow accustomed to it. I did feel, however, that it all started one fine September afternoon in singing class. It was the only class for which the entire school was brought together. We met in the biggest classroom, which had a piano. We used to stand in a great, sweeping semicircle, with the choir girls on the right and the rest of us arranged roughly according to height. I was in the middle of the curve and felt myself to be directly under Sister Veronica’s eye, although actually, of course, I was no more conspicuous than any of the others. And in any case I knew from experience that a girl who tried to remain hidden was often the first one to attract attention to herself.

That afternoon, with all the other girls, I was rendering “The Mountains o’ Mourne” at the top of my voice and keeping my eyes fastened on the pale, protruding eyes of Sister Veronica, who kept time for us with one of her long, limp hands. Sister Veronica believed that a girl who can look you straight in the eye is a good girl, and I was hoping she would notice my honest gaze.

The door opened, and Sister Hildegarde, the Sister Superior in charge of the school, walked in, portentous and unsmiling. She was a short, wide woman with a large white face on which moles grew. She and Sister Veronica together ruled us, with the help of three young lay teachers and two or three lesser nuns. We were afraid of the two head nuns. We were afraid of them separately, but our fear increased threefold when they were both present, because they seemed to set each other off, and the decisions they made when their eyes met were always to our disadvantage, and there was no appeal from them. They were unpredictable and deadly in their accusations and in their judgments, and we never knew where we were with them. This time, however, the occasion seemed peaceful enough, and we continued to sing with all our hearts. Sister Hildegarde took up her position behind Sister Veronica and a little to the side, so she could see us all.