I don’t mean I’m not a good woman—I mean that I’m not a GOOD woman. “What a gloomy person you are!” she murmured. Lucy went hunting on a Thursday night. The sky was cloudless, effulgent blue. One might have said that these trees grieved for their native soil; and, grieving, refused to bear. The study seemed absolutely unaltered, there was still the same lamp with a little chip out of the shade, still the same gas fire, still the same bundle of blue and white papers, it seemed, with the same pink tape about them, at the elbow of the arm-chair, still the same father. "Took a great fancy to you. Wood had retired to his own room, where he had just summoned Thames. Queer world. They had been informally introduced during floor hockey, when Katy had sent a puck flying into Lucy’s face.
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