A black silk furbelowed scarf covered her shoulders; and over the kincob gown hung a yellow satin apron, trimmed with white Persian. . “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. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations. " "They always act like that after drink," said Ruth, casually. She practiced swaddling on a doll, pretending to pat the head of her imaginary infant boy.
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