I didn’t think—I don’t know what I thought. Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like. Her foster father had been outside for most of the morning, working on trimming the maple trees and mowing the lawn. \"Good morning, Lucy\". Period trying desperately to cover her nudity with a dingy hand towel she had found lying on the floor in a corner. . But you shall swing, rascal,—you shall swing. She then dried her eyes, and laying her child gently upon the floor, knelt down beside him.
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