128 < 16 > LUCY GOES TO PROM She ended up sewing her own dress for Prom out of sateen and tulle leftover from Shari’s sewing days. His fingers slipped under the collar of her linen shift and he tore it open with a swipe. On some insane score she fancied she had to state her case in verse. “What was that?” she asked sharply. ” “It would be my pleasure, madame. She reads novels—and history—and all sorts of things. But I said I wouldn't drive a hard bargain with you, and I won't. She drew up a chair and sat down, putting her palm on the damp, cold forehead. “How did you hear that?” Lucy’s brows knitted. The man or woman who did something for nothing always excited his suspicions; they were playing some kind of a game. “Um, okay. He had his sections of the Siegfried map folded in his pocket, and he squatted up with his legs crossed like an Indian idol while she lay prone beside him and followed every movement of his indicatory finger.
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