Hitherto she had seen it chiefly in pictures and other works of art, incidentally, and as a thing taken out of life. “But why, Lucy? Who is it 145 that you are trying to hide from? John?” Lucy closed her eyes in earnest. For what indeed does she do? A simple song, no gesture, no acting, nothing. ‘Didn’t mean it, love. A small handgun bobbed at the end of it, aimed at Sheila. Dieu du ciel, what was it? She turned slowly, listening for the direction of the sound. Jack was completely overcome. All of a sudden, there was movement behind him.
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