The manager had sketched the girl's character, or rather had interpreted it, from the incidents which had happened since dinner. But really it is much more than that. Lucy was silent. And yet she knew it was not fair to call her a foolish girl. There were two of them. “Who’ll mind the baby nar?” was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent. On the right, stood a bulky figure, with a broken rattle hanging out of his great-coat pocket, who held up a lantern to his battered countenance to prove to the spectators that both his orbs of vision were darkened: on the left, a meagre constable had divested himself of his shirt, to bind up with greater convenience a gaping cut in the arm. She became more assertive, more defiant. They were childless and servantless, and they had reduced simple living to the finest of fine arts. 9 <2> THE UNTIMELY DEMISE OF RAY PLOTE Later that night after the dishes were washed and the garbage taken out, Lucy and the Beck's natural daughter retired to their shared bedroom.
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