Her face reminded him of a delicate unglazed porcelain cup, filled with blond wine. “You are of the genus obstinate,” he said. She could feel his breath on her skin, every hair on her arms and neck raised in response. “Do you know why they are estranged?” Lucy asked. ” Lucy would always press her face into her mother’s skirts when she heard the ending, no matter how many times she heard it. That terrible laughter, just before his senses had left him! Why? Here was a word that volleyed at her from all directions, numbed and bewildered her: the multiple echoes of her own first utterance of the word. I see them hanging out in the halls together all the time. ’ ‘Of course I am, imbecile,’ she snapped, unconsciously echoing her greatniece.
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