Her pat answer to all inquiries was, “I let my sister Shari make me over,” while she kept from staring at her own reflection in the shiny shoes past her bare knees. She saw it, and checked without thinking. “I want you so much, Lucy. Fear nothing. But you need not fear,’ she added, shaking him off. The hills surrounded her cave home protectively. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude.
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