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At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. She herself, and one other there, recognized the interposition of something akin to tragedy. She was too wrapped up in the sheer joy of playing again; it had 201 been intimate, masturbatory. ‘Good God! Everett Charvill, as I live. Me, you may have. The only thing they don’t fight over is the addition. ” She seated herself in a loose and easy attitude and surveyed the backs of the Avenue houses; then her eyes wandered to where the new red-and-white villas peeped among the trees.
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