The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. Lucy sat in back of Jane Lenihan, who never spoke to her. "I've done no more than my duty, Mrs. You see to what it has brought you. There was—a service. “It will spoil your life. ” Then she looked up at him with frightened eyes. Lucy changed into her Goodwill jeans and sweatshirt, plastering her hair down with an elastic band and securing it under a tight hood. The mere fact that he was there in the train alongside her, helping her, sitting opposite to her in the dining-car, presently sleeping on a seat within a yard of her, made her heart sing until she was afraid their fellow passengers would hear it.
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