“But I wish,” she said, “I had some idea what I was really up to. Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities. Why would your mother be so impatient?” Lucy speculated. Socks and shoes were harder to find, and she ended up wearing men’s athletic tube socks and a pair of dust caked flip-flops that had sat forlornly in Locker 49 since 1978. E. Pews had been brought in and set in two rows before the huge table, covered in white cloth, that formed the altar at the far end. She touched bow to strings, playing a fifth.
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