She imagined descending the stairs, hearing Mike’s uproarious laughter as she peeked around a vacant corner with a lump in her throat. Lucy didn’t seem like a teenage girl at all to Sheila and she knew it. “We were bound to do this when you kissed me,” she sobbed through her tears. “Mr. Who knows?—on the analogy of “Squiggles” she might come to call him “Mangles!” “I don’t think I can ever marry any one,” she said, and fell suddenly into another set of considerations that perplexed her for a time. I don't think. .
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