Lucy sat in back of Jane Lenihan, who never spoke to her. And then, as she stood there, with the fragments of the torn canvas at her feet, some even caught upon her skirt, the door was thrown open, and a girl entered humming a light tune. ‘Oh, you are making a game with me. It frightened her to behold her heart and mind thus laid bare; but the chapter following would reassure her. He had a flattish, perhaps, it should be called, a flattened nose, and a brown, leathernlooking hide, that seemed as if it had not unfrequently undergone the process of tanning. And also she didn’t like them.
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