She began to want to lay her head down on his chest but absolutely denied herself. “When did you look up my mother’s records at the Joliet library, Michelle?” Lucy asked, trying not to incriminate herself by sounding confrontational. “I knew,” she said, in a low despairing tone, “that people would talk. “Well?” she said. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold. It was clear she wanted to get away from home, that she was impatient to get away from home. 9.
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