Anna passed serenely out. The girl nodded sagely. Michelle had charitably taken to sitting with Lucy during Lunch Period, where she assumed a station at the outer edges of the Cafeteria, the crowd diffusing in concentric orbits, the middle tables reserved for only the most prestigious castes. His eyes flashed as he turned towards her. Let your father—if he chooses, leave all his wealth to his adopted son. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. We shall both, I hope, live to enjoy our shares—long after Thames Darrell is forgotten—ha! ha! A third of your estate I accept.
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