“My dear child,” he said, “with me you need have no apprehension. I hope you won’t think less of me, you’ve treated me so well. ” Lucy’s eyes smiled and a weary closed lipped smile arose on her face. "Yes, yes," replied Edgeworth Bess. She had found it in 1988, the year of the stock market crash. He yelled at the girls for neglected to hand Lucy a pair of shorts or a sweater while they stood around in shock. He was a man who in all things classified without nuance, and for him there were in the matter of age just two feminine classes and no more—girls and women. She mentally reprimanded herself to alter her own visage so as not to appear depraved. It was maddening to be made to feel that he was in any way the inferior of this cool, self-possessed young woman, whose eyes seemed for a moment to scintillate with scorn.
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