The small grey feathers of her exquisitely shaped fan waved gently backwards and forwards. Hetty, looking out of the window—she always smoked her after-breakfast cigarette at the window for the benefit of the less advanced section of Morningside Park society—and trying not to raise objections, saw Miss Stanley going down toward the shops. John’s father piped up, bored with the conversation, and asked, “Where do you get your blue eyes, Lucy? What nationality are you?” “I’m mostly Italian, but I get my blue eyes from my mother, who was Gypsy. I saw her face and it was the face that had been hidden from me in dreams, a face very much like yours, Lucia.
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