God, Lucy, that’s the stuff people wear to Phys. His attitude was as different from Gianfrancesco’s as night was from day. She distinctly shivered as he forced her to look at him. It was perfectly logical. It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. He knew that he could translate literally. “Come,” she said. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. Michelle looked at Lucy knowingly. In some incomprehensible way that back view made her feel sorry for Alice. To make Ruth pay for the whole shot! To wash away his sin by crucifying her: that was precisely what he had set about. When she slipped off of it her head started to bob, filled with air.
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