She grasped at the right one, massaging where his grip had been and Gerald hoped he had not bruised her. Ah, but she could remember; and many things there were that she would never forgive. Father and daughter regarded each other warily, each more than a little insecure with the other. Every window, from the groundfloor to the garret had its occupant, and the roofs were covered with spectators. She could hardly remember his face except for his brown hair, thick lips, and narrow dark eyes. ‘But then again, possibly not. ‘It was your son who left the place empty then?’ he asked. Lucy wore it every day from then on. A home MAY be a sort of cage, but still—it’s a home.
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