The McCloskeys had picked Lucy from a bunch of children languishing at the Illinois Christian Home for Children. Then a handkerchief was thrown over the cage, to prevent the bird from singing; it was her favourite canary. The bliss had lasted one hundred and forty years, far more than an entire mortal lifetime. ‘Why do you think I told you about the portrait? I’d not seen it, of course, but I’d seen Miss Mary just before she got married, which is when it was painted. I can talk with them. Kneebone in a conciliatory tone. But that's an infirmity shared by a great many sounder heads than mine.
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