Lucy could see her striding down a Parisian catwalk quite easily. ‘Idiot!’ ‘Enough, now! Softly, you little termagant,’ he ordered, seizing her wrists to hold her off. Then the long lashes sank demurely over them. I know my son's voice too well. 95 The officer showed her into the sleepy suburban police station, a hub of inactivity on Sunday night except for herself and a slightly drunk woman who had been brought in for DUI. He was a shy boy outwardly but she knew him better in his thoughts, in which perhaps she had already taken upon the role of lover.
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