From time to time she would come upon a line of singular beauty or a paragraph full of haunting music; and these would send her rushing on for something that never happened. Lucy clapped a hand over Michelle’s mouth and struck her neck with a swift blow to the carotid artery. “You didn’t expect that I should kiss you?” “How was I to know that a man would—would think it was possible—when there was nothing—no love?” “How did I know there wasn’t love?” That silenced her for a moment. She was trying to bring her problems to a head, and her mind insisted upon being even more discursive and atmospheric than usual. She had arranged for a supper of tea, a boiled egg, and some tinned peaches.
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