“When did you get home last night, Lucy?” Cathy interrogated through a yawn. "I knew it. The doctor sensed that his bolt had gone wrong, but he could not tell how or why. Michelle found herself drowning in finals, and Lucy walked home alone the last week in obscurity and peace. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay.
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