After all, it came to him suddenly as a harsh discovery that she might be in a sense regarded as grownup. A sound sleeper, she was not roused by the creaky openings and closings of drawers as Lucy packed a single duffle bag with underwear and soap that was pilfered from a multipack of Zest in the Beck’s downstairs bathroom. "Do nothing without consulting my father—your father, Thames," she implored. Public school. She followed him about persistently, and succeeded, after a brisk, unchivalrous struggle (in which he pinched and asked her to “cheese it”), in kissing him among the raspberries behind the greenhouse. "What has put it into your head that your son yet lives?" he asked. Thanksgiving Day morning, Shari woke Lucy a half an hour before the sounding of the alarm. She paused. If they entered a shop, he paused by the doorway, as if waiting for the journey to be resumed.
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