I’m glad you could come. E. Lucy looked at the stains on the threadbare carpeting to distract herself, embarrassed to her core. It was on the night of the Great Storm that I found him. "Rot, weren't they?" "No. I sometimes laid away my father's clothes in his trunk. I only seen her when she come with that Sister Martha. . . . She attempted by a sheer act of will to end the scene, to will herself out of it anywhere. . She rehearsed the story of her forlorn long lost mother in her head, what she would say to the theorymongers. Your own safety—the child's safety—depends upon your candour. You see me here, an admitted failure in the object to which I have devoted two years of my life.
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