It was as if he could smell it on her. She got up, drew up her blind, and stared out of window at a dawn-cold vision of chimneys for a time, and then went and sat on the edge of her bed. “Is that all you have to say?” Michelle challenged her. In those revolutionary times one had to be prepared. The mother, Cathy Beck, was as patient and as charitable of an individual that Lucy had ever known, a big kindly Polish-American woman with the heart of an angel.
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