Now Owen Wood had one fair child, Unlike her mother, meek and mild; Her love the draper strove to gain, But she repaid him with disdain. Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like. "No!" she cried. "I didn't think you'd been so easily fooled, Joan. Hope reared. "Do they treat you ill?" asked her son. He trembled, not from any superstitious dread, but from an undefined sense of approaching danger. “You remind me of the story which they tell against us over here, you know—of the Englishman who refused to be saved from drowning because he was unacquainted with his rescuer. Peste, but everything had become difficult.
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