She was going through with that, anyhow. That her husband was not touching her anymore grew to be like a disease, something to be cured. I hoped for a family like the Becks and I waded through the system until I got them, so maybe life isn’t so damn hopeless after all. The mother, Cathy Beck, was as patient and as charitable of an individual that Lucy had ever known, a big kindly Polish-American woman with the heart of an angel. Ruth shivered; she was cold. ’ I don’t know what you’d call it —a sort of witchery, almost suggestiveness. She ought to have leapt back on guard. These interests her world promptly, through the agency of schoolmistresses, older school-mates, her aunt, and a number of other responsible and authoritative people, assured her she must on no account think about.
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