. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. ” Lucy said, watching people mechanically pump quarters into the till. She shook her head, almost breaking a smile. She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly know for what—to do, to be, to experience. But not today. 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. Better check on Remenham House, I suppose.
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