“What’s that young lady’s name—girl in dark brown, stranger here?” Mr. Supper was spaghetti and Italian sausage that night. ‘Do not be imbecile. At last—I told a story. In the discussion there was the oddest mixture of things that were personal and petty with an idealist devotion that was fine beyond dispute. This is where my character, Lucia, is coming from. He climbed on top of her, pressing her into the couch cushions, the gown billowing around them like a cotton candy parachute. She took it up in her many-ringed hands and read it judicially. “I want to lay all my life at your feet. Jarvis did not leave a will. See paragraph 1.
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