“Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head. "Gracious Heavens! this is more wonderful than all the rest," cried the carpenter, rubbing his eyes. The afternoon was her own; but from eight until midnight she sat beside the patient. They sat down at the dining room table which seemed empty and 259 huge in the stark, white-walled room. She wondered what the problem was, why the buildup? She wanted to go to his apartment that evening but stayed herself. “Our marriage must be annulled.
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