Perhaps that was why Sheila began to observe Lucy, because both of them were poignantly aware of Lucy’s otherness. She saw her mother, her pale face, a woman in a white robe, calling to her from a sun drenched balcony. She would then partially recall the items that she had heard about him, presenting each at the angle that was the most likely to inflict pain. I meant mischief. ‘You think I am like that Valade? No, a thousand times.
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