He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. Most of them didn’t, anyhow. 32 The curtains and tapestries had appeared over the windows before Marina had died, growing moldy from the dampness and the oils of lavender, clove, and clary sage soaking them. \" It was a lie: Lucy ate one forced meal a day, supper. She had been sitting on the bench for two and a half hours, which was uneventful except for the homeless men who begged for change. She remembered that she had not gone to bed until two o'clock in the morning. “Ruin me? Think of me with fondness? Are you dying of cancer or something?” He demanded. ’ ‘Like this?’ ‘Parfait. Something in his tone pinched her heart. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. By that time it seemed to them they had lived together twenty years. Jack submitted to this scrutiny with a very bad grace, and vehemently protested his innocence. It will be a little lonely sometimes,” she said, looking around at them, “and I shall miss you all, but it is the fairest for myself —and I think for you. ” “Forget WHAT?” “And I said I wouldn’t.
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