’ Melusine blinked at this competence. It was enough. I should lose every scrap of independence—even my self-respect. Soon they came to treat Lucy almost as mother, pulling hard at her brown curls and laughing delightedly as they sprang back into their spiral shape. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. As they careened into a parking space, Lucy clung to the upholstery so as not to be thrown against the front seats. Looked like them statues of the Holy Mother I see about the place. Still he had a decent look, and decidedly the air of one well-to-do in the world. Beyond was another door, on which was painted in black letters: MR. I don’t half disagree with you, Vee, really; only thing is, I don’t see how you’re going to pull it off. This is a tale of two young fools. .
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