"You want me, then?" she said. “You’re self-taught, aren’t you, Lucy?” She looked around the table, all eyes upon her. They turned off at Glen Grove, a sleepy town of less than two hundred. Of this I'm certain, however, she was much too good for him, and was never meant to be a journeyman carpenter's wife, still less what is she now. Beyond was a chaise longue, covered with cushions and shawls laid anyhow across it, together with a discarded tapestry in the making, and a scattering of woollen threads about it. But, whether she likes it or not, I aim to be on hand to get her out of it. ‘Point it at me. “I refuse. Tell me that again.
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