‘But I have been perfectly honest about that. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. I’m minded to take a whip and beat some sense into you. I don’t think we’re altogether to blame if we don’t take some of your lot seriously. ‘When you’re my age, you’ll be just as hardheaded. Slowly a mirthless and very unpleasant smile dawned upon his face. Something to tell you. ” Lucy yanked him into the hidden door to Room 109, a door to the backstage that looked like the entrance to a broom closet. A creature of convenience, she could have cared less if her children were carried away by drunkards on the street.
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