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“She drew in a deep breath, mastering herself. “Forgive me. My nerves are worked to pieces.” “And still you are one of the most composed women of my acquaintance,” I told her truthfully. “Composure that is hard won and the result of long practice,” she assured me. “I learnt long ago that when is only half-British, the other half will be blamed for every evil of temper or habit. I schooled myself in deportment, so that the part of me that is Egyptian may never be held up as a pattern for degradation or vice. I became more British than any Englishwoman I knew. And still, every syllable I speak, every gesture, every thought is examined by society. I could take tea with the Queen at Windsor everyday and twice on Sundays and I would still not be English enough for some.” She spoke without bitterness, but there was a fatigue to her resignation and I began to understand the weight she carried with her at all times.” — Deanna Raybourn