|Caryl, Beverly, Nadine, Sandra|
She is eight years old.
At this point, she is already drinking.
Her hair is still in braids, she's still being dressed in outfits to match her younger sisters.
Raised by her governess and her nanny and, later, her boarding school, presented to her quaaluded mother once a night at bedtime, surrounded by a swirl of adults, denied any kind of normal childhood.
She's eight years old, already raiding her parents' liquor cabinet.
My son will be five in January.
My nephew is seven.
It all just breaks my heart.