She looked at him confusedly, his black hair glinting under the dim lights. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. Nothing stronger than water has passed my lips for years. Her softly intertwined fingers became rigid. Presently he began to weave a tale, sorry enough, with all the ancient claptraps and rusted platitudes. Another thing: she dated John Diedermayer once and she dumped him, she’s been psychotic over him ever since. John sat with his parents who arrived bubbling with excitement, bragging to everyone about Lucy’s first performance for them exclusively.
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