” John introduced her to couple after couple, a dizzying array of new people that she could not catalogue in her memory quickly enough. She then opened Lucy’s meager closet and plucked out a pair of heeled boots usually reserved for weddings and funerals. “Why can’t you tell people that you are what you are? Why all the secrecy?” She looked beyond the farmhouse. . Lucy had snuck in the back door by the kitchen and Sheila was ready for her, standing between the stove 124 and the refrigerator. The larger problem at hand was drugging her foster sister, Shari, into a deep sleep. “Life’s so queer,” she said, kneeling and looking into the flames. " "Nonsense," returned Jonathan gruffly. Suppose—suppose a girl did want to start in life, start in life for herself—” She looked him frankly in the eyes. But I'll never part with your irons.
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