If you can imagine it, I survived it. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. Under the circumstances you must permit me to be the best judge of the identity of the young lady who did me the honour, as an old family friend, of dining with me. I guess they were bad all the time. Michelle had charitably taken to sitting with Lucy during Lunch Period, where she assumed a station at the outer edges of the Cafeteria, the crowd diffusing in concentric orbits, the middle tables reserved for only the most prestigious castes. Anna lied to you, I lied to you.
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