It did not take a mind reader to glean that she had suddenly gained the boy’s obsessive attention. She explained she was expecting an important interview, and asked that her visitor should be duly shown in. She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. Michelle had charitably taken to sitting with Lucy during Lunch Period, where she assumed a station at the outer edges of the Cafeteria, the crowd diffusing in concentric orbits, the middle tables reserved for only the most prestigious castes. A dreamy sense of content crept over him. She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky.
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