“What happened to your parents, Lucy? Is it all right if I ask?” Lucy looked at her with a soft gaze. She rapped again, louder. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. If, when he returned, he blew out the light, she would go to bed; but if the light burned on for any length of time, she would go silently to the study curtain to learn if his agony was still upon him. Sir John filled his glass with trembling hand.
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