Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like. The door is open, so it is needless to ask leave to enter. He drove her to the Beck house, pulling up behind Cathy's red Nissan. This is also the ragged edge of the world, too. I must go somewhere into hiding, a long, long way off. She did not question or analyze the craving; she took the plunge joyously. Wood's daughter,—to whom, I've heard tell, he was attached years ago,—was brought up, his courage forsook him altogether, and he trembled, and could scarcely stand. Lucy sat paralyzed, as still as Tiger Lily on the death raft. Ruth's emotion was a primitive joy: she was essential in this man's life, and she would always be happy because he would always be needing her.
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