CHAPTER THE THIRD THE MORNING OF THE CRISIS Part 1 Two days after came the day of the Crisis, the day of the Fadden Dance. Nasty, damp passages. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. Michelle ate fast, and Lucy followed her lead, shoveling mashed potatoes and salmon down her gullet in a passionless frenzy. He thrust out a rhetorical hand. She held up the lamp. But all this business has driven it clean out of my head. ” The girl sat up and looked at him with a curious twist at the corners of her mouth —humorous or pathetic, he could not tell which. “My brother’s room when he comes home. ” She pulled her dress back over her breasts, glad for the elastic that she had sewn in.
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