“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. What could she do? Reluctantly, at a second curt command, she began to step across the uncarpeted floor, her eyes never leaving the threatening pistol. “Thank you both for treating me for all the world like I was your child. He handed her a cheque for thirty-one pounds, ten shillings, and read the agreement through to her. He stood completely still as she moved her tongue up and down its shaft. The turning of the key startled her, but she did not see how she could make an objection.
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