“—and your aunt—” For a time he searched for the mot juste. “Alone, dear?” “Yes, aunt. 256 Lucy chose her words carefully. . ” She departed from the couch and went upstairs to find John. The trio of girls approached the newly laid cement curb, where throngs of young girls in pink lip-gloss fanned and preened like peacocks as rich boys circled round, revving the engines of their father's red cars. And, stretching out his hand, he lifted the dark object from the flood. A corner could hold the promise of a shelf of dainty crystals, volcanic ices of rainbow colors, or figurines of saints sculpted from horn and bone reenacting their martyrdoms on delicate miniature wooden stages. I begin to understand Jane Austen and chintz covers and decency and refinement and all the rest of it. “Hey John, how’s it going?” “Hey Michelle. Everything had so far come to pass as the withered old Kanaka woman had foretold.
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