” She said in Lucy’s direction. I figured it would hurt your feelings if you knew I still talked to him, so I kept my mouth shut. The starling, on which the carpenter stood, was the fourth from the Surrey shore. I am not of the canaille, but a bourgeois. He had a blue overstuffed couch, his own television, even a computer with its own desk. Wild will hang me. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. “I regret that you should ever have proposed it,” he went on.
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