\"Hey, don't be a stranger, Lucy. ’ He made a pretence of rising and making a sortie to the corner to see if anyone was there. It is the horse of the priest, you understand, and—and he does not know that I have borrowed it. She had prepared herself to meet violent protest, a recurrence of that burning glance. That's how I finally got wind of it. Look at me, and answer me one question. The door was opened for her by a weary-looking youth in a striped jacket several sizes too large for him. 175 “Before you tell me the whole story,” she emphasized the penultimate word, “just let me do something for you. “When did you get home last night, Lucy?” Cathy interrogated through a yawn.
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