Perhaps that was why Sheila began to observe Lucy, because both of them were poignantly aware of Lucy’s otherness. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise. “I believe it is. They took her fingerprints sitting at the gray metal desk of Officer Nolte, the virile young buck who had brought her in.
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