As usual, Lucy traced over parts of her experiences in her confidences with Shari, skipping lightly over her own 10 story as a pebble would over a lake. ‘But I do not pay this penalty. But when she was thinking it over in her room that evening vague and baffling doubts came drifting across this conviction. From the beginning. And now she was discovering that even Nature was something of a liar, with her mirages and her horizons. She was a trained being—trained by an implacable mother to one end. She had fled back to Florence quite intent on slitting the new bride’s throat.
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