But it can never buy dignity.

And it can never buy humanity.

Emily kept, from that whole terrible and clarifying year, one image above all the others, and she returned to it whenever the noise of the world tried to convince her again that worth could be measured in the things the Caldwells had measured it in.

It was not the image of Victoria weeping in the chairman’s office, or of the Greenwich mansion with a sold sign in front of it, or of any of the satisfying spectacles of a proud family brought low.

It was a smaller image, and a truer one.