So long as she could remember, her father had never permitted her to sit at the table unless she came fully dressed. Too bad he’s not interested in any girl who’s not a musician. Of course she had taken the boy as her lover, acting as his muse. ‘Tell me, my boy. The stench was cheese-like and unbearable and Lucy dry-heaved. To escape one phase of loneliness she had plunged into another, so vast that her courage sometimes faltered. The little spot of rouge was vivid enough now by reason of this new pallor, which seemed to draw the colour even from her lips. “I think you are getting to understand me better.
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