I’d only get a pack of lies in reply. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. I think I asked if I could eat lunch with her and Trisha Deere one day and she said there was no room at the table. ‘Not from the nuns, no. Lucy simply added her own good night, even though a significant part of her wanted to call Cathy mother, she refrained. “I did not,” Anna answered.
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