“I hate you because you are the Devil! Rot in Hell!” She was shocked at her own accusation, how she had savored the words. Lucy savored the normalcy of the scene. Both carried packages of books and magazines. What of Gosse, whom those soldiers had allowed to escape? Hiding—or perhaps gone. ToC London, at the period of this history, boasted only a single bridge. The world, she discovered, with these matters barred had no particular place for her at all, nothing for her to do, except a functionless existence varied by calls, tennis, selected novels, walks, and dusting in her father’s house.
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