Not then. Her husband was drinking in the tavern with the other guests. It would surely be only common politeness to drop her a hint—a fellow countrywoman too. Cathy and Shari toiled over boiling pots of potatoes, candied sweet potatoes with orange rind, corn casserole, and almond green beans. Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like. When she entered the office a strange scene was presented to her startled gaze. A neat tale, giving little away. “Here we are, living in the same suburb,” he began. ’ ‘What of your grandfather?’ Her lips parted in surprise. At first she could not tell what it was; but as her eyes became accustomed to the light, she recognized the old coat. The drunken beachcombers; the one-sided education; the utter loneliness of a white child without playfellows, human or animal, without fairy stories, who for days was left alone while the father visited neighbouring islands, these pictures sank far below their actual importance. “What do you mean, hanging round with my wife?” he answered fiercely. "You show more consideration to the feelings of a hempen widow, than there is any need to show.
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