“So you’re the one my son has been talking about. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. They proved all sorts of things perhaps, but they were thick, unequal, pitiful pieces of work. He thought he heard a scraping sound as he turned the handle. “No, not that I know of,” Michelle replied, her still eyes not meeting Lucy’s. \"No, not really. She had felt deserving of the punishment, as he had been mainly concerned that she would be killed by accidentally falling into the pit, but it was a terrible insult. Ann Veronica forgot him as soon as she was through the gate, and her face resumed its expression of stern preoccupation.
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