The mother, Cathy Beck, was as patient and as charitable of an individual that Lucy had ever known, a big kindly Polish-American woman with the heart of an angel. Where was this kindly world she had drawn so rosily in fancy? Disillusion everywhere. Her safety lay in pretense—that what she saw was as a tale twice told. What our dear mother would say back home I dread to think. “But why, Lucy? Who is it 145 that you are trying to hide from? John?” Lucy closed her eyes in earnest. Capes smiled cheerfully with his eyes meeting hers. 1 with active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project Gutenberg-tm License.
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