Stick To Your Own Kind

Ever since I was a tot, there was one thing that my parents had bore into my mind. Stick to your own kind. They had picked playdates with wealthy people of class and luxury, and always said to me, "Look, Marie, that's a nice young man, fit for my baby." My mum always said. My dad was sullen, quiet. The kind of elegance that was both comforting and interrogating. My brother, Vincent, was a disgrace. Being three years older than I, he fell in love first. He fell in love with a poor girl, and mum hated that. I, for one, found her gorgeous, beautiful. Her name was Elaine. She had been the sweetest to me, Miss Marie Ava Sanders. What will happen to me when i fall in love with the 'wrong type'?