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They are long gone. Her husband sat in a chair beside her bed, his head in his hands. Too skilled to advertise their presence by a show of arms and men. But the love of life prevailed over his fears. ‘The old man who lives here, idiot. He saw it in book-covers, on the stage. ” He shook her hands off almost roughly. Gracious, there’s the gong. Soon they came to treat Lucy almost as mother, pulling hard at her brown curls and laughing delightedly as they sprang back into their spiral shape. “Are you sorry you waited, aunt?” she said. The only thing they don’t fight over is the addition. “Oh, yes,” the stranger remarked good-humouredly. ‘She’s gone.
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