And her mother, looking unusually alert and hectic, wore cream and brown also, made up in a more complicated manner. The roofs and gables of many of the houses had been torn off. Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. “My Mom makes more money than my Dad, a lot more. He hanged your first husband. ” Lucy snickered. Everything in this world changed—except human folly. Some day older people, perhaps, will trouble to understand younger people, and there won’t be these fierce disruptions; there won’t be barriers one must defy or perish.
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