At least the sun would not be as bright, which was a welcome reprieve from the mercilessly bright early summer days which had invigorated every man, woman, and child in the suburbs but were wearing Lucy down into acute fatigue, along with her hunger. There was also the daunting task of getting dressed. She flew up the covered stairs and knocked upon his door. Winds returned, the gardens withered, and roses would not bloom. “But your sister,” he said. The stranger with a bow returned to his table. Michelle sat on her bed, which emanated scents of powdered laundry detergent and Sweet Honesty perfume.
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