She kept pausing in her work and regarding it, and when Capes came round to her, she first put her hand in her lap and then rather awkwardly in front of him. She had, it was true, accepted doubtfully the pen he had offered. “Hospital? What for? What’s the matter with me?” Courtlaw’s voice sank to a whisper. She gathered her black purse, a pointless thing made of cardboard covered in sateen and bejeweled with an assortment of rhinestones. How old are you?” She asked. She glanced at him. ‘She?’ ‘Damnation!’ He saw her frown, and added at once, ‘I beg your pardon, ma’am. God, Lucy, what’s it been, how many years?” “I’m so sorry, John.
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