Lucy did her best to avoid talking about it, but the subject was beguiling, as it almost always brought news about him from the grapevine within which Michelle was intravenously entwined. The doleful procession at once assumed a festive character. She refused to sleep in the same room with him one night, kicking him in the shins. She slipped it calmly into her pocket. “Not like it’s your fault if you wake up one day and decide you hanker for a nice piece of ass, a ten-minute tumble. The other must call a coach as quickly as he can. I’ll mention it. “TROUSERS!” she whispered. Of course this thing was absolutely impossible. A home MAY be a sort of cage, but still—it’s a home.
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