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"You play?" asked McClintock, who was sorting the rolls. They would be partners only in loneliness. "I never stand upon ceremony where I know I shall be welcome. The thought of you, wandering from pillar to post, believing yourself hunted—it tore my old heart to pieces! For I knew you. From midnight until morning he was now left alone. You truly are your mother’s, Lucia. The day was unseasonably humid and dark, a thick fog having descended over manicured lawns. ‘Who’d believe me? And I’d have to tell my part in it all, too. She was suddenly grave.

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