“Why are you so distant? Why all the mystery? What are you, a narc? Double-oh-seven or something?” She steeled herself, refusing to react. “When did you look up my mother’s records at the Joliet library, Michelle?” Lucy asked, trying not to incriminate herself by sounding confrontational. “I am going to America. She got up, drew up her blind, and stared out of window at a dawn-cold vision of chimneys for a time, and then went and sat on the edge of her bed. It developed into a sort of secret and private bad manners.
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