The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about. He was a good foster dad that had never so much as leered at her, not even once. “I’ll run, too,” she volunteered. Lucy sized up the girl. It would surely be only common politeness to drop her a hint—a fellow countrywoman too. And they never talked of anything at all, never discussed, never even encouraged gossip. She felt the need to get dressed, sensing that his parents would be home soon. She limited herself to eating once a fortnight, until she discovered that she could go without comfortably for a month. Two women entered and sat down at the adjoining table. You DO understand?” “Who cares for most people?” she said, not looking at him.
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