Then she sang. How she had hated it!… All these mumblings which were never explained, which carried no more sense to her brain than they would have carried to Old Morgan's swearing parrot. “You’re self-taught, aren’t you, Lucy?” She looked around the table, all eyes upon her. The girl was in the game now, and that narrowed the circle. Then, as she was in the act of turning reluctantly away, she noticed a thin crack between the door and the frame. She was perfectly aware that the boy had gotten some sort of bug in his craw over her despite her sloppy, strange appearance. It was a moment or two before Gerald, opening his eyes on the girl’s astounded expression, recollected himself sufficiently to pull out of the extraordinary impact she’d had on him. That I should be challenged by you of all people. The man who staggers, whose face is flushed, whose attitude is either noisily friendly or truculent, has some chance; liquor bends him eventually.
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