“I’m sorry Mister McCloskey! I was out seeing my boyfriend!” He stared at her concernedly. “Aunt!” she said, “I can’t—” Then she caught a wild appeal in her aunt’s blue eye, halted, and the door clicked upon them. Michelle had charitably taken to sitting with Lucy during Lunch Period, where she assumed a station at the outer edges of the Cafeteria, the crowd diffusing in concentric orbits, the middle tables reserved for only the most prestigious castes. He would sit in his inner office and compose conversations with her, penetrating, illuminating, and nearly conclusive—conversations that never proved to be of the slightest use at all with her when he met her face to face.
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