Lucy sprinted to one side to avoid the crash and grabbed at Rhea’s solitary patch of yellow hair, which ripped out loosely in one decayed piece like strands of rotten corn silk. He looked at his friend. She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping. Thought she was a nun at first. “If ever you do and I can help you in any way, by advice or inquiry or recommendation—You see, I’m no believer in feminine incapacity, but I do perceive there is such a thing as feminine inexperience.
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