Lucy changed into her Goodwill jeans and sweatshirt, plastering her hair down with an elastic band and securing it under a tight hood. They thought that she was her own mother. Jack Kimble stiffened, looking at his interrogator with wary anger in his face. Even in her own sorry skin-and-bones state of wraithlike pallor and gray under eye circles she was drawing unwanted attention from would-be admirers. She spoke slowly. To find the incentive! But how? Thither and yon the idea roved, seeking the way. He did not stagger in the least. You see to what it has brought you. He uttered a short laugh.
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