\"Well, to tell you the truth, John Diedermayer. Lucy wore it every day from then on. It was horrible, but what could she do? She meant to live her own life, and he meant, with contempt and insults, to prevent her. ‘As to that, I am a devil, say the nuns. She tolerated spitballs in her curly hair and had to buy a new backpack when hers was stolen. ‘You could have fetched me home. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. We'll get together this afternoon; and you can pretend that I am your father.
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