There was no one at all in this room, but through the half-open door of one of the small apartments that gave upon it she had a glimpse of two very young girls sitting at a littered table and writing briskly. Anna lied to you, I lied to you. As the novel grew Ruth was astonished to see herself enter and dominate it: sometimes as she actually was, with all her dreams reviewed—as if he had caught her talking in her sleep. He stood back and held her shoulders. She recoiled. Perhaps that was why Sheila began to observe Lucy, because both of them were poignantly aware of Lucy’s otherness. There was a pause, and then the front door slammed. My thanks, by the by.
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