She felt a hysterical desire to strike him, to burst out crying, to blurt out the whole miserable truth. “You’re self-taught, aren’t you, Lucy?” She looked around the table, all eyes upon her. She took some shirts, underwear, shoes, a duffel bag, and his wallet to make it look like he had gone a-traveling. But this might be merely a figurative mode of describing his customary vigilance. His body went limp, and as he withdrew she ironically found herself at the doorway for the first time in her life of being truly aroused. "We shall meet again ere long, my son," cried Mrs.
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