Lucy kissed him on the cheek. “Hey, John. To his consternation, she was holding an unwieldy, ugly-looking pistol, all wood and tarnished steel, with both hands about the butt. As usual, Lucy traced over parts of her experiences in her confidences with Shari, skipping lightly over her own 10 story as a pebble would over a lake. She cried out with the pain of it. ‘Lawks-a-mussy! It’s Miss Mary. As you admitted to me—one has to square one’s self with the world. She recalled how she had stretched out her arms toward the magic blue horizon.
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