She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. She found him reclined, watching television in a small guest room hidden in a back wing of the massive house. At least the sun would not be as bright, which was a welcome reprieve from the mercilessly bright early summer days which had invigorated every man, woman, and child in the suburbs but were wearing Lucy down into acute fatigue, along with her hunger. ” Jane was taken aback by Lucy’s weird candor. And how could I come home—when he locks me in rooms and all that?” “I do wish this wasn’t going on,” said Miss Stanley, after a pause.
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