She turned her cheek to the cold sill; and by and by the sill grew warm and wet with tears. ‘Leave it, imbecile. “Am I hurting you?” She asked. She rose and attacked Lucy, kicking her with the grafted leg that was too big for her body. She shivered, more due to his presence than the changing weather. He carried her in his arms up the steps, like a bride on her honeymoon. “Why are you so distant? Why all the mystery? What are you, a narc? Double-oh-seven or something?” She steeled herself, refusing to react.
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