” She exhaled through her mouth and could not bring her eyes to meet his. But, perhaps Mr. Every moment or two he bent over his patient. “Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head. She creaked, groaned, and rattled; but that was only her way of yawning when she awoke. He would sit in his inner office and compose conversations with her, penetrating, illuminating, and nearly conclusive—conversations that never proved to be of the slightest use at all with her when he met her face to face. Such a time that it takes for them to go.
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