“What happened to your parents, Lucy? Is it all right if I ask?” Lucy looked at her with a soft gaze. Capes had the gift of easy, unaffected writing, coupled with very clear and logical thinking, and to follow his written thought gave her the sensation of cutting things with a perfectly new, perfectly sharp knife. The locket contained the face of her mother—all the family album she had. There was nothing to be got out of the man. ’ ‘Tchah!’ He glared at her. He had not bothered to take off his raincoat and his umbrella sat dripping on his modern ice cube of a table. “I don’t think you can have heard me, Vee,” he said, with intensely controlled fury.
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