235 “No, I think she’s out sick with a throat infection. In one grave, mind. “How did you hear that?” Lucy’s brows knitted. She was aware of the body of the court, of clerks seated at a black table littered with papers, of policemen standing about stiffly with expressions of conscious integrity, and a murmuring background of the heads and shoulders of spectators close behind her. He could scarcely blame her. How could she tell him of the evil that drew her and drew her, as a needle to the magnet?—the fascinating evil that even now, escaped as it was, went on distilling its poison in her mind? "Yes, yes!" said the doctor. She thought she had hidden well from him. I believe it amused him.
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