She stared. Your own safety—the child's safety—depends upon your candour. She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. Michelle looked at Lucy's feet, still in the ugly brown loafers she had worn since last year. It will take a month to clean up. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky.
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