Lucy was a hard worker and a good cook and because of those traits she and Sheila had gotten along most of the time. “You’re not a virgin, are you?” It was as much an accusation as a question. She threw out a hand to stop herself from cannoning into them and, losing balance, tripped over her own petticoats and fell to the carpeted floor, her hat falling off as she did so. “What is the good of pretending?” she said. His manner was deferential, even eager. Recovery impossible. There would be ultimate misery, but it would be needless cruelty to give her a push toward it. Courtlaw rose to his feet.
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