I never intended it to be anything but a short story, for I had never completed even the shortest of stories unless forced to in grammar school. I had that coming. I did not have to dig deep in my imagination to create the status-obsessed suburban environment of Lucy’s modern milieu. It was not only that her father had said all sorts of inconsistent and unreasonable things, but that by some incomprehensible infection she herself had replied in the same vein. modern. Her old nurse’s hands returned the pressure. “Oh God!” she cried, “Oh God!” and flung aside her opera-cloak, and for a time walked about the room—a Corsair’s bride at a crisis of emotion. “I always shall. Then he turned on his heel and walked off. It was also cold, and dark, for there had been no time to light the lantern.
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