Its dreariness, like the filthiness of the police cell, was a discovery for her. ” He did not look at her. The both of them puttering about the tidy two-story house, Lucy would serve them both steaming cups of tea in the front parlor. Michelle was on her like a fly, asking her questions about her past foster homes she did her best to avoid, pretending to be swamped every night with sudden reams of homework and unable to be reached by phone. She had intended to be quietly dignified, but he was in a smouldering rage from the beginning, and began by assuming, which alone was more than flesh and blood could stand, that the insurrection was over and that she was coming home submissively.
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