“Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head. Brown. She was caught by an uncle, whose opinion she valued, making faces at Roddy because he had exulted at this. It is no good waiving the thing; it is true. At times he was brilliant and masterful, talked round and over every one, and would have been domineering if he had not been extraordinarily kindly; at times he was almost monosyllabic, and defeated Miss Garvice’s most skilful attempts to draw him out. I had to sell out, you see, when my father died, for the estate is in my hands.
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