She rolled to one side. She posed herself before her mirror and surveyed herself with gravely thoughtful, gravely critical, and yet admiring eyes. Michelle had charitably taken to sitting with Lucy during Lunch Period, where she assumed a station at the outer edges of the Cafeteria, the crowd diffusing in concentric orbits, the middle tables reserved for only the most prestigious castes. The sky was cloudless, effulgent blue. He saw the tragedy on the boy's face; but he was merciless. She stared down at them from a high window, peering down at their moonlit faces in the bed heavy with furs, the same bed where she had given birth to Gianfrancesco’s dead son. Give me the keys and the light. ‘But the major—’ ‘The major can say nothing at all. Wait, though.
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