CHAPTER XXIII. Lucy dug out an old light gray cotton miniskirt that had shrunk on Shari in the wash. ‘Melusine was making herself mistress of them when we met. She herself, and one other there, recognized the interposition of something akin to tragedy. O'Higgins made it positive; but it required five weeks of broken voyages: with dilapidated hotels, poor food, poor tobacco, and evil-smelling tramps. Winifred pointed to the door. ‘Civilian peace-keeping forces, you know. “Why—it’s—it’s you!” Amazement seemed to dry up the torrents of his speech.
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