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My grandmother like everybody grandmother ,was an old woman . She had been old and wrinkled for the twenty years that I had known her. People said that she had once been young and pretty and had even had a husband but that was hard to believe . My grandfather portrait hung above the mantelpiece in the drawing room. He wore a big turban and loose fitting clothes . His long white beard coverd the best part of his chest and he looked at least a hundred years old. He did not look the sort of person who would have a wife or children . He looked as if he could only have lots and lots of grandchildren . As for my grandmother being young and pretty the thought was almost revolting. She often told us of the games she used to play as a child . That seemed quite absurd and undignified on her part and we treated it like the fables of the prophets she used to tell us.