” Lucy said, thinking of the Becks who worked around the clock just to keep a tiny house in the same neighborhood. She found herself again in the presence of some element in life about which she had been trained not to think, about which she was perhaps instinctively indisposed to think; something which jarred, in spite of all her mental resistance, with all her preconceptions of a clean and courageous girl walking out from Morningside Park as one walks out of a cell into a free and spacious world. She found her foster father and Mike still awake, playing high stakes UNO at the dimly lit kitchen table. How perfectly charming. It penetrated the skin; benumbed the flesh; paralysed the faculties.
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