Dizzily, she grabbed at the mantel for support and, resting her head on her hands, paid no heed to a betraying sound behind her—until an unexpected arm encircled her. She found the silence comforting, as old people often do. “No, not that I know of,” Michelle replied, her still eyes not meeting Lucy’s. “It seems—It’s interesting. It was an overcast day, albeit not foggy, and the electric light shades glowed warmly, and an Italian waiter with insufficient English took Ramage’s orders, and waited with an appearance of affection. Maggot.
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