Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like. ” “Why shouldn’t I go?” “It isn’t a suitable place; it isn’t a suitable gathering. He “went in” for microscopy in the unphilosophical Victorian manner as his “hobby. She should be lifted out of her narrow little life, and it should be all owing to him. Rituals instead of medicines. And it has been well for you that he imagines the child was drowned. I meant to give him a drubbing. Art was everywhere, underfoot in the form of mosaics, overhead in the form of architecture.
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