The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about. His lips were tight drawn. " "Afraid?" "Yes. Sometimes her straying mind would become astonishingly active—embroidering bright and decorative things that she could say to Capes; sometimes it passed into a state of passive acquiescence, into a radiant, formless, golden joy. “Yes. John sat with his parents who arrived bubbling with excitement, bragging to everyone about Lucy’s first performance for them exclusively. The world into which she was so boldly venturing was going to be wonderful, but never so wonderful as the world within these paper covers. All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. She slept in a bedroom clad in linens and skins, walked down hallways bedecked in the most gay and colorful frescos.
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