At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. Jackson and Mr. Martin scrutinized Lucy more closely, but Lucy could tell that Michelle’s credibility had been damaged as her stifled sobs were heard upstairs. She came to spend hours with the bastard children that the women brought, dressing and feeding the tiny ones, inventing games for the older ones. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. Unless—would he hide from them as he had hidden from her? It was a big house, he said. It was the beginning and the end of the transaction. So dreadful were these shouts as to produce an effect upon the hardened feelings of Jonathan, who shrank out of sight. She held her hand to the place where he had slapped her. Now I know that you don’t live as close to the Beck house as you once pretended.
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